


Problem Child

by Rhoda_Writes



Category: The Haunting of Hill House (TV 2018), Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Angst and Feels, Body Horror, Canonical Character Death, Crossover, F/F, Gen, M/M, Post-Canon, Psychological Horror, otayuri - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-05
Updated: 2019-05-24
Packaged: 2019-09-07 14:53:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 23,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16856074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rhoda_Writes/pseuds/Rhoda_Writes
Summary: Yuri Plisetsky loses his temper at a summer training camp and gets sent to Theo Crain for "anger management" sessions. And then it gets ghostly. Some shippy stuff with Otabek, but mostly this is a horror/coming-of-age story about my favorite Russian Punk. Beta'd by MindYourMind - thank you so much!





	1. Anger Management

It wasn't enough that Yuri Plisetsky had won the gold at the Grand Prix Final. Or that he'd made a real friend for the first time in his life. Or that he'd managed not to get sloshed at the awards banquet and challenge everyone to a striptease dance off like the other Yuri had the year before. He was still being forced to attend these counseling sessions twice a week to deal with his so-called "anger management" issues. All because he'd picked a fight with a newbie.

The kid was some hotshot from Australia--Colin? Caleb? Corey? Something like that. He was okay, but nothing special. And unfortunately for everyone, but especially for Yuri, this guy was taking up one of the spaces at Yakov's summer training camp in Boston. Yuri wasn't even sure what set him off. Something about the way the kid was watching him got under his skin. He said something weird, a word Yuri couldn't translate, and that had pissed him off even more. The only thing he hated more than insults was lacking the context to throw a decent comeback.

Added onto that, Yuri hadn't been skating well that day. His balance was totally shot lately, since not long after he'd left St. Petersburg. He was getting too tall too fast, and his skates felt too tight. It was throwing everything off. So, he'd punched him. Right in the jaw.

Except, Yuri hadn't thrown that many punches before, and never on skates. It did weird things to the force and the gravity. The kid reeled, but instead of bouncing back up to his feet, he had skidded several feet, and cracked his skull on the ice.

They said it looked worse than it was. But it looked . . . bad. Gasps and low mutters broke out among the other skaters. Yuri himself let out a soft, "Oh shit," but no one seemed to hear him. They just gave him a wide berth and helped get Australia back on his feet.

Yakov had raced into the thickening crowd. He took one look at the kid's face. Then he said, "Yuri, you're done for the day."

"What? But I--"

"Go. Now."

"Yakov, I didn't mean--"

" _NOW_. You are _done_. Get off the ice."

The rink had gone silent. Yakov had never raised his voice before. Not like that, not in front of the others. Yuri had a strangely clear memory of unlacing his skates in the locker room. He had to do it one-handed because his right hand was bruised and sore. Otherwise, he had no idea how he'd gotten back to the dormitory.

The next thing he knew, he'd been staring at a terse, official-looking email from Yakov ordering him to see this Dr. Crain person, two times every week for the rest of the summer training season, or he was out of the camp.

Two days later, Yuri took a taxi to the plain brick building at the address Yakov had given him. He walked into the waiting room with one hand shoved in his pocket and the other clutching his phone. Yakov had sent his medical records and other information over already. There wasn't much to it--just the standard yearly physical and some minor sports injuries--but they had to track all that stuff financially over here. Being listed as a foreign national probably made it even more complicated. Yuri mostly tried not to think about it. All it meant was he couldn't loophole his way out of this.

He barely looked up from his phone when Dr. Crain called him back to her office. It took some effort, because as it turned out Dr. Crain was a fairly attractive, fairly young, dark-eyed beauty, but Yuri wasn't here to play nice.

Her office didn't have a desk. Just a few chairs, a sofa, a couple bookshelves, and a table with a stack of jigsaw puzzles and a sketchpad.

"Hello, Yuri," she said. "I'm Theodora Crain, but my friends call me Theo." She held out her hand for him. "It's nice to meet you."

Yuri scowled and threw himself onto the sofa. "Whatever," he said, propping his feet up lazily on the cushions. "Let's get this over with."


	2. The Brat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Theo contemplates how to deal with Yuri being....well, Yuri. Trish suggests maybe the reason he's driving her up the wall is because they have something in common.

The first session was tricky. It always was. Theo had learned how to navigate the awkwardness of young, scared, vulnerable people trying to decide if she could be trusted before; that was her whole job. But sometimes it came out as rudeness. Yuri Plisetsky was rude.

She could handle it. His attitude didn't ruffle her . . . much. No, the bigger problem was he was coming to these counseling sessions against his will, under some sort of mandate from his sports coach, and he had no intention of making this easy for either of them. In other words, just old enough to take offense at being forced into something he didn't want to do, but just immature enough to underestimate what was at stake.

Maybe.

The truth was, she couldn't get a good read on him. Not just because he refused to shake her hand. He was abrasive, uncommunicative, and stubborn--she'd expected that. The kid had a reputation. But he didn't strike her as violent.

"Maybe you need more experience with teenagers," Trish suggested, as they were having dinner in their apartment that evening. "You normally work with younger children, don't you?"

"Normally," said Theo. "But this kid, he's. . . I dunno. There are a lot of walls there."

Trish grinned slyly and sipped her wine. "Sounds familiar."

Theo laughed. Yeah, it did. She knew plenty about walls. It felt so good to actually talk to someone about this for a change. Not that she could disclose anything in much detail--that whole doctor/patient confidentiality thing--but Trish listened to what she _could_ tell. It surprised Theo how much that helped, getting some of the junk out of her own head and into the open at the end of the day.

Thank God Trish had been patient enough, and determined enough, to get past most of Theo's walls. Theo could never have survived this past year without her. She wasn't sure how much Trish knew about the house, and Nellie, and her parents. There were some stories Theo couldn't tell herself. Of course, Steve would probably put the whole thing into one of his books some day--"The Haunting of Hill House 2: Return to Hill House," or something equally grotesque.

It didn't matter. What mattered was Trish had stayed, and now they had their own place in Boston, and they could do ordinary couple things like eat dinner and talk about work and complain about the spotty WiFi in the building. Theo wouldn't trade this life for anything now.

"So, did you shake his hand?" asked Trish.

Theo shook her head. "He wouldn't take it."

"Oh." Trish took a moment to wind some noodles onto her fork, chewed thoughtfully, sipped her wine. Then she said, "Well, he sounds like a brat."

Theo laughed. "Maybe. But right now, he's my brat, so I have to make it work eventually."

Trish reached across the table and threaded their fingers together. A pulse of energy transferred from her hand to Theo's. With it came warmth, reassurance, confidence, and a faint glimmer of worry. All of it reflected softly in Trish's smile.

"You okay?" asked Trish.

"I can handle it," said Theo, squeezing her hand affectionately.

"You'd tell me, right?"

Theo had never quite explained her touch-based empathy to Trish. Or to anyone, except maybe Nellie. It was so difficult to put into words. But it was also important that there not be any secrets between them. Trish knew something, and she didn't push Theo for more. For now, it was enough.

Tonight, Theo just said, "Of course." She hoped time wouldn't make a liar out of her.


	3. Green-Eyed Fairy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a troubling conversation with Grandpa back home, Yuri has another run-in with Caleb, who is determined to destroy Yuri's reputation and make him yesterday's news.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A made a whole soundtrack for this fic, and I'll be posting links in a few places where it's relevant. In this chapter, Yuri is listening to [Party Poison](https://youtu.be/YV26Byx60eE) by My Chemical Romance.

Someone else's incompetence was giving Yuri a massive headache. Again.

This time, it was the housekeeper who was supposed to help Grandpa sort out his bills and make sure they got paid on time. Yuri paced back and forth in front of the street entrance to the practice rink, his phone glued to his ear, speaking in rapid, irritated Russian.

"Look, the calendar is color-coded. I explained this to you last week. Yellow is electricity, blue is water, red is gas, green is the house payments. It is not that complicated."

" _Yes, I know that, Yuri_ ," said the housekeeper. " _The calendar isn't the problem, it's the bill. He can't find it._ "

Yuri's free hand twitched, wanting to tighten into a fist. "Which one?"

" _I don't know which one, that's the problem. He says he paid the water bill already, but that's the only one left for this month._ "

"For Christ's sake--put him on the phone!"

Yuri started pacing faster. Grandpa was having a bad year. He barely noticed it most of the time--he could still cook better than half the chefs in the country, he was strong and energetic, he got up early and kept the plants watered. But other things, little details that kept the house livable, were starting to get away from him.

" _Hello!_ " he crowed into the phone. " _How are you, Yuratchka? You missed the most beautiful sunrise this morning. I took photos for you. I'll send them on the phone once I can remember how!_ "

"That's great, Grandpa!" said Yuri. "Listen, can you look in that basket that's in the kitchen?"

He talked him through it patiently, trying to describe the logo that would be on the envelope, until finally the missing water bill surfaced. He got the housekeeper back on the phone after telling Grandpa he loved him and that the summer camp was going great.

"I don't see why you won't just let me take care of it," said Yuri. "I can sign off on everything myself. It would be so much faster."

" _Because you're sixteen,_ " said the housekeeper. " _You can't access his bank accounts. Just wire the money over when you can. I'll deal with the rest._ "

Momentarily defeated, Yuri hung up and went inside. There was no one else here yet, so he could warm up alone, which was how he liked it.

Summer in Boston wasn’t too different from Summer in Russia. It only got hot because of the sun baking the concrete between the buildings and the constant vehicle traffic, and even then it was never warm enough to take a swim in the ocean. Yuri didn’t mind it. He didn’t like it much hotter than this. At least it wasn’t humid up here.

Still, it was a relief to go inside and get onto the ice. He was warming up, just doing some laps and a few basic spins, with his headphones on when a trio of onlookers strolled in. Caleb--it turned out the asshole's name was Caleb--was with them. Yuri ignored them and kept going through his exercises.

They weren’t coming onto the ice. They just stood there on the sidelines, stretching, watching, chattering to themselves. There was an edge to their laughter that put Yuri’s hackles up. Still, they weren’t technically doing anything.

Yakov wasn’t there yet. Practice technically didn’t start for another fifteen minutes. It was just enough time for something to go wrong, without anyone else to see.

Yuri put his earphones in and turned up the volume. He needed to hear Gerard Way screaming about getting off the dance floor right now. That would help him forget about Caleb and his minions. He gathered speed, letting the song fuel his adrenaline until he was zipping around the rink too fast to even see Caleb. He adjusted his rhythm and spun backwards, working a few jumps into the mix.

He hadn't chosen the music for his new short program yet. "Welcome to the Madness" was going to be hard to top. It had put out a new expectation both for Yuri's fans and for himself. Which, of course, was why he'd done it. All those light, floaty routines, the programs that had earned him the nickname "The Russian Fairy," were fine for what they were. He didn't hold Victor's specific challenge of driving him out of his comfort zone against him. Both Victor's program and the one he'd been assigned by Lilia had been designed to showcase his technique and flexibility, and at the time, Yuri had been fine with that. He hadn't exactly been in a position to argue about it anyway.

But then he'd met Otabek. There was something about that guy. Maybe it was the fact that so many people didn't really know him, or even bothered to try. He was so quiet. Kept to himself all the time, only rarely joined in at the banquets and after parties. He came across as superior, but that wasn't true. He was just . . . different. And he had wicked taste in music.

More importantly, Otabek saw Yuri as he really was: not soft and delicate, but a rebel. A warrior. Becoming his friend gave Yuri the confidence to put that exhibition program together. It was the first time he'd shown the world who he really was. Still, now he had to live up to it, to prove it hadn't been a fluke, and that he hadn't gotten everyone's attention for nothing.

The others were starting to drift onto the ice, getting started on their own warmup routines. Yuri navigated to the center of the rink and went into a sitting spin. His legs felt too long. he could just barely control it. When the song ended, and he came up, there was just enough silence for him to hear Caleb clapping. He shouted, "Yeah, go, fairy, go!" from somewhere to Yuri's right.

"Okay, asshole," Yuri muttered through his teeth. He skated over, picking up speed until it looked like he was going to crash into the other boy. Caleb's eyes went wide and he slid backwards. Yuri skidded to a sideways dead stop, spraying ice shavings into Caleb's face like snow.

Caleb flung his hands up in alarm and overbalanced, almost falling backward. "Hey, what the fuck!"

"Oh, sorry," said Yuri. "I guess I didn't see you there."

"Son of a bitch!" Caleb lunged for him, but Yuri glided out of the way.

That's when Yakov showed up. Before Yuri could even react, Caleb was at the edge of the rink.

"Yakov, this jerk just tried to attack me again!" he said.

"Hey!" said Yuri, rushing forward.

Yakov put a hand over his face. "We haven't even started practice yet. What is happening to you?"

"I didn't do anything!" Yuri protested.

"He did." Another one of the skaters, one of Caleb's minions, had materialized beside them. "I saw it."

Yakov glared between the three of them.

"That's not true!" said Yuri. "They're lying."

"I don't care. Work it out, and get back to work. If I hear anything else about either of you taking this too far, you're both out of this training camp. Is that understood?" Then he circled the ring to talk to someone else, ignoring them.

Yuri turned to Caleb before he could get away. "What the fuck is your problem?" he asked in a low voice.

Caleb shrugged. "I don't have a problem. I have a mission. And that mission is make sure you know you're not special anymore." He smirked. "It's not fun being brought down to our level, is it?"

"Like I care. Why can't you just leave me alone? What'd I ever do to you?"

Caleb sighed, and put his hand on Yuri's shoulder. "You don't get it. You're history. Old news. This time next year, no one's gonna remember your name. You had your shot, and now it's somebody else's turn. It's nothing personal."

Yuri stared at him. So, that was how it was? He didn't believe him, but right now, he didn't need to. All he had to do was destroy him the best way he knew how: on the ice.

"Take your hand off me," said Yuri. "And don't ever touch me again."


	4. Friends and Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuri's second counseling session with Dr. Theo Crain gets cut short by an unexpected visitor. . .

The boy was in a mood today. Good lord. Theo had thought he'd been rude before, but now there was very clearly something specific on his mind. It was making him downright mean.

He sat on the couch again, his ankles crossed over the coffee table, hood pulled over his hair. He was going through everything in Theo's office and explaining to her in detail exactly why he thought it was stupid and/or useless.

"What is it, like a reverse Rorschach test?" he said, nodding at the sketchpad under his heel. "What somebody draws is actually supposed to tell you something about them? You know people can fake that. They could draw anything they want. What's the point?"

This had been going on for roughly half an hour. At first Theo had let him rant, but now, she put her notepad down, and folded her hands over her lap.

"Yuri, do you understand why you're here?" she asked.

He shrugged. "Yeah, because I'm an asshole. Everyone knows that."

It was a more self-aware response than Theo had been expecting.

"Okay," she said carefully. "Your coach called yesterday. He said you had another incident."

"That's not true. Nothing happened."

He picked up the pen next to the sketchpad and started fiddling with the clicking mechanism. It was a nervous, defensive response. Interesting.

"You want to tell me about that?" asked Theo.

"There's nothing to tell. Nothing happened."

Theo waited. Silence filled the space between them. He wasn't going to cave. Not on this, not today. Theo decided to push him, just a little.

"Yakov said you attacked that same boy a second time."

"I didn't!" he protested with a glare. "He set me up. He even got one of his friends in on it."

Classic deflecting, or was he telling the truth? Theo couldn't quite tell. He was clearly upset though.

"What do you mean, set you up?"

"Seriously, nothing happened," said Yuri. "But as soon as Yakov got back, he went straight to him and started acting like he'd been hit. But I didn't do anything this time."

He said "this time." So if nothing else, he was at least taking responsibility for the earlier incident. He was also still clicking the pen. Theo held her hand out for it. Yuri rolled his eyes, but handed it over. When Theo took it, she let her fingers brush his for just a moment.

The flash happened quickly, but it was enough to show a young boy, presumably Caleb, screaming at Yuri, and then rushing to get their coach afterwards. There wasn't a scrape on him. Whatever had happened hadn't come to blows.

"I believe you," she said, and set the pen down on her desk.

Yuri scoffed. "Believe whatever you want. I don't care what you think."

Okay. This was going nowhere. Time to take the gloves off. "Well, you should," said Theo, "because what comes out of our conversations here could determine whether you get to keep participating in this program. You put on a good poker face, but you can't tell me you don't care about that."

He shifted in his seat, and sat up a little straighter. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means that if you can't work out your differences with this guy, you're going to be out of the summer training camp. That's not up to me. It's up to your coach. But it's on his mind. So if I were you, I would care very much about not antagonizing this boy."

Yuri shook his head. "What's . . . 'antagonizing?'"

The question was so simple, it caught Theo off guard. She kept forgetting English was his second language.

"I mean, stop picking on him."

"I'm not though! He's picking on me, just no one else believes that, because everyone knows I've got an attitude problem."

Again, his clarity on that subject was intriguing. Theo didn't know what to make of it.

"Have you tried talking with your coach about this?" she asked.

"What for? He wouldn't do anything. Anyway, it's my problem. I can take care of it myself."

In the absence of the pen, he had taken his phone out again and was mindlessly scrolling through some social media feed or other. Theo wondered if pointing out that taking care of things himself was how he'd gotten stuck in these sessions in the first place.

Instead, she said, "What about your friends? Have you tried to talking to them?"

Yuri shook his head. "They're all back in Russia."

"And you have no way of getting in contact with them?" Theo glanced pointedly at the phone.

Yuri stared back at her, and, with a dramatic sigh, put the phone away.

"Okay," said Theo. "So you won't talk to your coach, you won't talk to your friends, you're barely willing to talk to me, so--"

"What's the point? I have to deal with this on my own."

"Why? What's the matter with letting someone else help you?"

"Because they _can't_. Don't you get it? People don't want to 'help.' Not really. They just want you to shut up so they don't have to listen to your problems anymore."

Theo was about to offer another suggestion, but she looked at the wall clock and saw they were out of time. She felt like they'd made some progress, but not much, and it was still taking every second of her hard-earned training not to strangle the kid. She felt for him--she really did--but Christ, he was difficult. And he was doing it on purpose too, which was almost worse. He wasn't just being stubborn for its own sake. He truly did not believe she could do anything for him.

She needed more time. More information. The fact that there was a bully taunting him every day brought things into focus a little, but she had the sense there was more to it than that. He didn't strike her as the type to let that sort of thing get to him so much. Something else was going on there and she wanted to find out what.

Just as she was about to stand up and let him know they were finished for the day, the lights flickered. It happened so quickly. The darkness persisted only a moment. If Theo had looked away, or even blinked, she would've missed it. A dim shape stood behind the couch, behind Yuri, seeping out of the wall like mist. The ivory dress, the long tangled hair, the sharply angled neck broken from the choke of a noose. It was Nellie.

One hand, the fingers violet-gray with rot, clamped onto Yuri's shoulder. Her blackened lips were moving, but Theo couldn't hear anything.

Theo leapt to her feet, her voice stuck in a gasp, and the lights shivered back on.

Yuri was watching her curiously, his pale eyebrows raised. "What?" he asked.

He hadn't seen or heard anything. Of course he hadn't. Theo's family had always been uniquely gifted--if that was even the right word--when it came to visions.

"We're out of time," she said. "But I have homework for you."

Yuri grumbled something in Russian. "Fine. What?"

She moved to the bookcase and took out a blank composition book. "Think about everything you want to say to Yakov about this kid who's bothering you. Write it down in here. Not to show him, but to get it out of your head. Think about what he might say in response, and what that means to you. That's the first part."

"There's more than one?"

Theo grinned and handed him the notebook. "Yep. The second part is this: I want you to reach out to one of your friends back in Russia. It doesn't have to be to tell them about any of this. Just pick someone, and give them a call, or a text, or a status update. Can you do that?"

He didn't answer. He just stuffed the notebook into his bag and stomped off down the hallway.

_Jesus, kid. Give me something to work with, I'm begging you._

But once he was gone, Theo peered at the spot where he'd been sitting. The lights were fine. No more flickering. She walked over to the couch and pressed a bare hand against the wall just behind it. The presence was faint, almost imperceptible, but it was there. Just enough of a lingering gloom to let Theo know she hadn't imagined it.

"Nellie?" she whispered.

Silence answered her.

"What are you doing? Leave him alone. Hear me? You leave him alone."


	5. Jump Drills

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a hard day at the practice rink, Yuri decides to work off some frustration by dancing. In this chapter, Yuri is listening to: [Beat It](https://youtu.be/WlTlUseVt7E) by Michael Jackson.

Yakov had them working in groups today. Yuri and Caleb had been stuck in the same bunch of four, because either the universe or Yakov in particular had a shitty sense of humor. Maybe both. The idea was to take turns executing and landing specific jumps, one at a time, and then switch to a different jump as Yakov called them out. Every five minutes, he yelled, "Triple lutz!" or "Double toe-loop!" or "Double salchow!" and they all complied.

Normally Yuri was the best at jumps, even the quads, but his latent growth spurt had thrown a wrench into that too. He kept overbalancing, wobbling on the dismount, and misjudging his speed.

This didn't go unnoticed by Caleb, but fortunately he was struggling too, so he didn't get much time to throw any barbs Yuri's way. His axels were all over the place. Where the hell had he learned his technique? Yuri knew it didn't get that cold in Australia, but Christ, it was embarrassing to watch him. He kept waiting too long leave the ground, or going the opposite direction and getting too much air to land properly.

"You're anticipating it too much," said Yuri, finally fed up. "The ice isn't going anywhere. Just get off the ground."

"Who asked you, fairy?" Caleb said with the grimace. "I don't need your help." Then he went for the axel again, and, predictably, flubbed it.  
Yuri smirked. "Sure about that?" he asked, watching Caleb drag himself upright.

"Shut up, you're not doing any better. How did you ever win gold at anything? I've seen crocodiles with better balance."

"They have four legs."

The other skaters in their group were drifting away, bracing for another explosion.

Caleb muttered something under his breath. Yuri didn't hear, but one of the others near him cackled in a distinctly cruel way.

"What's going on over here?" Yakov said. They hadn't seen him skating over to check on them.

"Nothing," said Yuri coolly. "We're fine. Aren't we, Caleb?"

Caleb shot him a glare, but said, "Peachy," to their coach.

Yakov didn't seem convinced, but he let them alone. He blew his whistle, shouted, "Triple flip!" and the skaters switched again.

They let the others go first. They just watched, and waited. Then Caleb nodded at Yuri. "Go on then," he said.

Yuri took a breath, then gathered speed. This had been his signature move last year. The Japanese Yuuri had even begged for his help with his own technique. Everything went fine until the landing. He kept getting stuck on the toe pick, and spilling over.

He came back to the edge with gritted teeth. At least Caleb didn't do any better.

Later on, in the locker room as they were unlacing, Caleb said, "It's your skates, isn't it?"

"What?"

"They're too tight."

Yuri scowled instead of answering, but he was right.

"I got like four inches in less than a year, back in fifth," said Caleb. "Screwed up everything. It was a nightmare."

"Watch it," said Yuri, sliding his street shoes back on. "You might say something nice. People will talk."

Caleb smiled, but it wasn't a nice look. "You know how long it took to get back to normal? Take a guess."

Yuri paused, midway through slinging his bag over his shoulder. "How long?"

"Two years and change. Like I said: you're history. If you're dealing with a growth spurt, you're screwed this season."

There was no way to control the color rising in his cheeks, but Yuri could do a good storm off at least. "For fuck's sake, I don't care," he growled. "At least I have an excuse. You're still never gonna beat me if you can't land a quad."

Then he walked out the door without another word. If Caleb want to humiliate himself, he was welcome, but not if Yuri had to share a rink with him. They were both going to get better at this. Period.

#

The best way to deal with balance on the ice, was by practicing _off_ the ice. There was a ballet studio a short walk from the dormitory. Yuri checked the class schedule to make sure he wouldn't have company, then asked the owner for an hour.

He started with some barre exercises, stretching and bending and trying to reclaim his center of balance. It was tedious and slow, not to mention tiring after a full day on the ice, but he had to fix this. More importantly, he had to prove Caleb wrong.

The exercises were repetitive enough that his mind started to wander. He didn't need to focus as much as he did for the jumps. Much as he resented it, he was thinking through some of the stuff Dr. Crain had said. It was weird being back in a place where he didn't have any friends or confidantes, after getting so close with Otabek, and Victor, and even Yuuri, last year. He'd gotten used to seeing them every day. Even when they were just goofing off.

He'd been alone when Lilia was coaching him in terms of peers, but he'd been closer to Grandpa. He could go home and not think about skating at all. This was different. Maybe Boston had been a mistake. Maybe he shouldn't have left St. Petersburg. Maybe he needed to just take a couple years off. . .

No way. He couldn't afford to squander his success like that. The world might forget him in a couple years. He had to keep himself in the spotlight, at least for now, to keep this going. And he'd studied with Lilia last year, which gave him an edge. Many of the competitive skaters in his age group had studied ballet at some point, for form and discipline. Not as many had been personally mentored by a former prima ballerina like Lilia. She was ruthless and demanding, but ruthless and demanding was exactly what Yuri had needed at the time.

As he shifted his practice into turns and jumps, watching his posture in the mirror, he thought about Dr. Crain's second assignment. He did want to talk to his friends more. He was unsure of the time difference, but that was just an excuse and he knew it. However, complaining about Caleb to Victor or even to Yuuri wouldn't do any good. Oh, they'd listen, and Yuuri might say something generically kind, but Victor would probably just laugh it off. They'd both assume, not without reason, that whatever was going on with Caleb, Yuri could handle it. He was tough, after all. He was the Ice Tiger of Russia. Nobody could get to him.

Then there was the other problem, which was Victor and Yuuri were in that gooey, rainbows-and-sunshine stage of their relationship. Yuri couldn't talk to either of them for long without getting nauseous from secondhand sentimentality overload. He was happy enough for them. They were kind of perfect for each other. But they were also finishing each other's sentences, posting brunch photos on their Instagrams, and tagging each other with stuff like, "#BestBFEver!"

Ugh.

Yuri didn't resent them exactly, but it felt like they were leaving him behind. After the Grand Prix Final, they were all supposed to be friends. It had seemed that way at first anyway. But every so often, Yuuri and Victor would just disappear into their happy couple bubble, and forget Yuri was even in the room.

His playlist skipped to a new song: Classic 80's Michael Jackson. Perfect. He turned up the volume, stopped working on his technique, and just let the music move through him. He loved this song, and the dance choreography that went with it. The bass drum was so intense it was almost punishing. Yuri imagined being at that club in Barcelona, the one Otabek had refused to get him into by letting him fudge his age, and clearing the dance floor.

He flung his arms out to the sides, slid across the floor on his knees, even attempted a moonwalk just for fun. The hell with Caleb. He was the youngest Gold Medalist since Victor himself. He wasn't "history"--he was just getting started. Why was it so hard to remember that?

Still, it felt like he had nowhere to go from here but down. Like MJ said, "No one wants to be defeated." He would have to fight to hold onto his reputation, but he could do it. He wasn't scared of some jackass from a climate that never even got snow. He just wished Otabek was here so he could gloat to someone once he proved Caleb wrong.

Wait--Otabek! That's who he wanted to talk to. Not to gloat, just to talk. It was still so weird to know that they'd been in the same summer training camp years ago, before Yuri's senior debut, and Yuri hadn't even remembered him. Had Yuri really been that self-centered back then?

Maybe, maybe not. Otabek tended not to stand out. He was so quiet, hardly anyone noticed him. Yuri noticed him now, because they were friends, but he wouldn't have if Otabek hadn't made the effort to introduce himself.

The song ended. Yuri stood up and checked his playlist, wondering if he could use it for his short program. Copyright issues were tricky sometimes, but that was Yakov's job to worry about. If this wouldn't work, he'd keep looking.

Hell, maybe he should call Otabek, like Dr. Crain said. It was petty, but he didn't like thinking about her being right. But he could stand to hear a friendly voice, and soon. He felt better after dancing. More than anything, he just wished he wasn't alone out here.

He packed up his things, made his way to a diner down the street, and rubbed at the back of his neck. He must've been working harder than he thought. There was a twinge in his shoulder, as if someone had been digging their fingers into the muscle. It was probably nothing. He was sure it would work itself out soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took so long to post this one! I always think I'll have more down time during the holidays, but I never do--meaning, it's taken up with real-life holiday-related stuff, as opposed to fandom stuff. But no worries, I'm back on track now. Hope everyone who celebrates had a good holiday season!


	6. Homesickness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another session with Dr. Crain, and this time Yuri brought some questions of his own. About a certain book he found in the discount bin. . .

The house had stood empty for three years, just as Steve had requested. Gates chained, but not locked, the pathway to the front door overrun with brambles and wire grass. The house itself crouched like a starving beast, low but enormous at the same time.

Theo wasn't sure why she had taken the drive. True, it wasn't unreasonably far from the apartment, and she had time before Trish got home from work, but she didn't exactly want to be here. So many bad things had happened in this house. She got out of the car and went to the gate, curling a hand around one of the rusting pillars. She kept her gloves on of course, just in case.

Her gaze was drawn to the porch light. While her family had lived here, that was their beacon, the signal to come home at dinner time. Two flashes meant come home. The longer she looked, the more she believed the light was just about to come on. She wondered if the light had come on for Nellie. If that's why she had gone inside that night.

But the light stayed off. It didn't want Theo. Not just now.

A few years ago, Theo might have written off her instincts as PTSD or something, not even thinking about ghosts or premonitions as real possibilities. Not anymore. She had to assume that what she'd seen in her office had been real. And that meant the house was hungry. Yuri was in danger.

#

"Tell me about your mother."

Yuri coughed out a laugh. "What?"

"Sure," said Theo with a shrug. "You've been expecting me to say that eventually, right? So, why not?"

Yuri grumbled something under his breath and went rummaging in his backpack. He didn't immediately grab his phone, so Theo suspected this was something else.

"Sorry, I didn't catch that?" said Theo.

"Because I don't want to."

"Fair enough. How about your father?"

"Seriously?"

"Brother, sister? A cool aunt?"

His expression darkened, and he kept searching. "I don't have any of those."

Theo frowned. Something was off here. How old was he? Sixteen, right? He was way too young to be living on his own already. Someone had to be paying for this camp and his travel expenses. Who was raising this kid?

"So," she said, trying a different tack, "When you have matches, who comes to see you? Who's cheering you on from home?"

Suddenly, his eyes took on a spiteful gleam. He took out a paperback book and set it accusingly on the table between them. Theo cringed inwardly before she even saw the title. Of course he'd found it somehow. _The Haunting of Hill House_ by Steven Crain.

"Why don't you tell me about _your_ mother, Dr. Crain?" he said.

_You sadistic little shit_ , she thought. But she'd learned early in life to mask her emotions. She never would have gotten far in this line of work otherwise. Also, deflecting was a classic indicator that she had touched a nerve. So Yuri went for the throat when he was asked about his family. She could push him more about that later, but for now, she filed it away.

Calmly, she picked up the book, noting the discount sticker on the cover. "So, we've made it to the bargain rack," she said. "I should call Steve and tell him."

"Is any of that stuff true?" Yuri asked.

"Parts of it," Theo admitted. "It was a weird place to grow up. More trauma sells more books, I guess. Steve embellished a lot." Matter of fact, Steve had buried a big chunk of the truth about the house, mostly because he couldn't see it, but Yuri didn't need to know that.

"Which parts? Did she really kill herself?"

_You're lucky you're under a Do No Harm clause, kid._

"Yuri," said Theo, tossing the book back onto the table. "Did you write anything down in that journal, like we talked about last time?"

He grimaced, then rolled right into another question: "What about the house? Is it still there?"

"It is, but no one's allowed in."

"But you can technically go, right?"

"Technically, but then you'd have to deal with the caretakers. And they're not nearly as much fun as I am." Theo smiled grimly.

He kept on needling her, ignoring any question she put to him. She waited him out. He had to stop and take a breath eventually. When he finally did, she said, "Yuri, you still haven't answered my question. You had homework last week. Remember? So, did you write in that journal?"

No response.

"What about your friends? Did you get in touch with anyone?"

He scowled. “If you’re supposed to be psychic," he said, pointing at the book, "why don’t you know everything about me already? You shouldn’t even have to ask questions.”

This was why Theo didn't tell anyone about her gift. Assuming he wasn’t just messing with her, which was a big assumption. But then again, Theo had a feeling he wasn’t that sly. Yuri was the kind of boy who would insult you to your face, not sneak around the back way and make you work for your humiliation. She suspected that was why Caleb bothered him so much. From what Yuri had told her, that guy seemed like a vindictive piece of work. Yuri was much more upfront.

Theo pulled her chair closer, positioning herself directly across from the table. “Give me your hand,” she said.

Yuri raised his eyebrows.

“It only works if I touch you,” she explained.

He didn’t look convinced, but he leaned forward, stuck his hand out, and let Theo take hold of it.

The flashes didn’t come right away. Sometimes it was slow. Of course it would be slow now, when Theo was trying to prove something. Then she saw a hazy white image, frosted around the edges like snow was falling. The sun was high and bright; it must’ve been mid afternoon, someday in late Winter. An old man with a thick beard, kind eyes, and a knit woolen hat smiled down at her.

“Who is he?” she asked. “The old man? Your grandfather?”

Yuri yanked his hand away. The connection sparked out quick as someone flipping a switch. He stared at her, eyes wide, and a little frightened.

“How did you--?” he started, but couldn’t wrap words around the thought.

Theo had to handle this next part carefully. She had used her gift to help clients before, but having them know exactly what she could do was new territory. What she said next could make or break every session that came after this one. She didn’t want to lose him.

“Yuri,” she said. “You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to. That’s not how this works. Okay? But if you don’t give me something, I’m not going to be able to help you.”

He made a derisive noise almost like a hiss, and snatched the book off the table. “I don’t need your help,” he said, stuffing it back into his pack.

“Your coach thinks you do.”

“Yakov’s an idiot.” He zipped up the pack, somehow making it clear that he was zipping it _at_ her. Theo didn’t even know that was possible.

“And I can’t tell anyone what we’re talking about in here, but if you leave early, and skip the rest of your sessions, I have to report that.”

He was halfway to the door, but that made him pause. Theo could practically hear the gears turning in his mind, trying to decide just how much trouble he’d be in if he didn’t listen. He glanced back at her with a new expression, his face was sharp and curious, if still not quite trusting.

“Did you really see ghosts?” he asked.

Ah. That was always the question. For her entire adult life, Theo had continually struggled to get away from the specter of Hill House. But this time, she might actually be able to use it to her advantage. She moved her chair back to its previous spot by the bookcase.

“Come back next week,” she said. “I’ll tell you then. And you can tell me what you talked about with that friend back home you’re going to call.”

With that, the mask snapped back on.

“I don’t feel well,” he muttered. “I need to go back to the dorm and lie down.”

His bright eyes dared her to call him out. Theo wasn’t going to play that game. He could grow up, or leave. It was up to him. But in spite of herself, she was starting to become fond of him.

“Okay,” said Theo. “I hope you feel better.”

She meant it. She hoped he knew that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't find a lot of information about Yuri's family apart from his grandfather, except for this really interesting tidbit about Yuri's mother being ultimately left out of the show because including her, and her story, would be depressing and drag down the shiny-happy-feelgood mood they were going for. I'm kind of running with that.
> 
> Also can't quite figure out whether Steve's book actually says there are ghosts at Hill House, or everything they experienced was due to mental illness since that's what Steve believed at the time, so I'm aiming for somewhere in the middle. Hope that's not too confusing.


	7. Humming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter, Yuri's practice gets crashed by an unexpected visitor. So, my beta readers know already I like to torture my characters. That's what's going on here. FYI, it won't get much more gruesome than this, if you need to know where the limits are on this story. During this practice session, Yuri is listening to [Eraser](https://youtu.be/jZjDNINPHXw) by Nine Inch Nails.

New skates took ages to break in. The leather needed stretching, the stiffness needed to be beaten and smoothed away, and at the rate he was growing, Yuri might need a new pair before the end of the season anyway. But he couldn't skate in the old ones anymore. They were too goddamn small.

He posted a picture on his Instagram with the caption, "NEW SKATES!!!" That got a few likes and responses, including one from Victor, but Yuri figured that wasn't what Dr. Crain had meant by getting in touch with someone. He had meant to call Otabek, but the idea kept slipping away from him. He couldn't make himself hit that call button. Something was holding him back.

The practice session today went okay. No major incidents with Caleb, or Yakov. But it was only okay. Not great. Yuri couldn't get into the right headspace. Something was distracting him. A sound, indistinct but tantalizingly close, like there was someone right behind him humming in his ear.

After two hours, Yakov let them split off to do their own free skating. Yuri put his headphones on and turned up the volume as high as he could stand. Something crunchy and dissonant that would block out everything else. He found a mostly instrumental Nine Inch Nails track and went with that.

Nine Inch Nails was always a challenge to skate to because the rhythm was off-kilter and unpredictable. But that was fine. Yuri could use a challenge. It would help him focus. He slid into a camel spin, then flipped and switched to the other foot, spinning in the other direction.

That humming noise didn't go away. It hung on in the background, just underneath the music. Yuri skated in a wider circle to gain momentum, then tried an upright spin. The faces of his rink mates blurred into a stream of color. He spun faster, raising his hands up and looking at them instead of the others.

When he slowed down for another technique, another face appeared between the skaters and the onlookers and his coach. As Yuri moved, he kept skipping over this new stranger, his mind not quite taking in what his eyes insisted was there. It was a dark shape, with a hand stretched out, like it was reaching for him. Something was wrong with its head. It sat lopsided on the shoulders, like the neck was broken.

Yuri jammed his toe pick into the ice to stop. He scanned the stands, but nothing out of the ordinary was there.

_What the hell?_

So now he was seeing things. That was awesome. He tapped the volume up a little more and kept practicing, going for a combination sit spin this time. At first it was fine. And all the motion was helping him get used to the new skates, which had been his original plan anyway. They were still stiff, but infinitely better than the old ones.

Again, there was a dark shape at the edge of the rink, closer this time. He could see her lips moving. Humming? No, not humming. More like moaning, mumbling. She was trying to speak but couldn't, because her mouth was filled with cotton, and her jaw was wired shut.

The figure's outstretched hand made a fist. The nerves in Yuri's shoulder pinched together as if someone was squeezing there, hard. He dropped to his knees, catching himself on the ice with his gloved hands.

The frozen ground was spinning. Why was the ground still spinning?

The song was getting too loud. It was supposed to end loud, but not like this. It kept going, far longer than it should have. The noise mutated into a single, stretched out scream.

Yuri ripped the earphones out, but the screaming didn't stop. The only difference was now he could hear other voices calling his name and asking what was wrong. He clamped his hands around his head. The sound was echoing inside his skull.

Someone knelt down beside him and latched a hand around his upper arm.

"Stop! Don't touch me!" he yelled. But as he scrambled away, his toe pick snagged on the ice and sent him tumbling over again. He heard a sharp, sickening snap. The screaming still wouldn't stop.

Large hands, strong hands hauled him upright. The rink kept tilting. Someone was dragging him off the ice. Yuri tried to slip out of their grip, kicking and flailing his arms, but he could barely tell which way was up.

"Get off!" he hollered. "What are you doing?!"

At least that was what he tried to say. His tongue felt thick and heavy as cotton, and his jaw was clamped shut as if it had been sealed by a steel wire. His heart was racing. He couldn't breathe. He could barely see. Everything was getting blacked out by that constant, horrible screaming.

#

Yuri woke up on a bench in the locker room. They called it a "panic attack." It wasn't exactly wrong. He had definitely panicked, and it sure felt like something was attacking him. But it wasn't exactly right either. His skates were unlaced and on the floor beside him. The noise had stopped, finally, but Yuri's head felt stuffy and weird. He probably should've been scared, but he was too tired to be scared. And too confused.

Obviously, the thing he'd seen in the rink was the Bent-Neck Lady from the book about Dr. Crain's family. She was a menacing specter from the house, and showed up mostly to terrify the little girl, Nellie. She looked just how Yuri had pictured her. But that was impossible. It was just a story. Wasn't it?

His shoulder felt sore. He reached up and rubbed it absently. Yakov was standing a few feet away, talking with the medical team that stayed on standby during the summer camp. Falls, scrapes, and even breaks weren't uncommon on the ice. They were discussing whether Yuri should be sent to the hospital.

"Jesus, calm down, I'm all right," he muttered. But it didn't look like they heard him.

Then he heard the word "fracture" and went very still. He hadn't checked his feet. Only seen the skates laying on their sides, the blades gleaming under the fluorescent lights. His right ankle was wrapped in bandages and an ice pack. It wasn't supposed to bend that way. He gripped the bench with both hands and, carefully, flexed his foot.

Pain immediately splintered all the way up his leg.

_No no no no._ "Yakov!"

His coach was at his side in an instant. "Try to be still," he said.

But Yuri was already clutching his arm and using it to pull himself up.

"No, Yuri don't put any weight on that leg. We don't know how bad--"

It was bad. He had barely touched the floor when another wave of pain shot through him so intense he almost blacked out again. Yakov put him firmly back on the bench.

"If it's broken," said Yakov, "it could take several months to--"

"It's not." Yuri shook his head. "No, it's not. It's not broken. Don't say that."

"You need a hospital."

"No."

Everything blurred after that. Phone calls had to be made, practice had to be taken over by one of Yakov's colleagues, and Yuri had to sit in a tiny, bright room while incessantly cheery nurses cooed over him like a goddamn doll. They wrapped him in plaster and medical tape and asked questions that he barely heard.

He checked his phone once. Forty new notifications about that last photo he'd uploaded, with the new skates. It might as well have been from a hundred years ago. He turned it off after that.

Hours later, after Yakov drove him back to the dormitory saying something about "Worrying about all this in the morning," and he was in bed staring at the unfamiliar ivory cast molded around his leg, he turned the phone back on.

He couldn't remember the time difference between here and Kazakstan. He was barely aware of what time it was here. He went to one contact and sent a text: "Are you awake?" It took a whole five minutes for Otabek to answer: " _Sure. What's up?_ "

Yuri's thumb hovered over the text field. He typed, "I miss you," then erased it. He closed the text field and hit the "Call Back" button instead.

It rang twice before his friend's voice said, " _Hello?_ " He sounded low and growly, as if he'd just woken up. Every muscle in Yuri's body relaxed when he heard it.

"Hi," said Yuri. "Just checking in."

After a pause, Otabek said, " _Yuri?_ "

"Yeah, hi. It's almost midnight here." After a pause, he added, "Sorry."

" _You sound weird. Are you okay?_ "

Of course he wasn't okay. But where should he start? He hated Boston. His rink mates were assholes. His compulsory therapist was literally psychic. He was pretty sure he'd seen a ghost. And his ankle was. . .

"No," he said. "I think I'm in trouble."


	8. No Footsteps

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yakov lets Yuri off the hook for seeing Dr. Crain for anymore sessions. But then he starts to sense something following him. . .

He skipped the next session. Theo had expected that. So she called with an appointment reminder, but never heard back. Then he skipped the next one. So she called again. When that didn't get a response either, she called Yakov. 

" _Oh, he won't be needing any more sessions,_ " said the coach. " _The summer camp is only another four weeks, and he has to stay off the leg during that time. But you didn't hear, did you?_ "

Then he told her what happened, and Theo's heart dropped. She sat down on the couch slowly. She didn't know much about figure skating, but she remembered seeing Nancy Kerrigan on the TV getting her leg smashed up, years ago when Theo was a little girl. An injury like that was no joke.

"God, that's awful," said Theo. "How's he handling it?"

" _Well, hopefully he'll recover in time for next year's season,_ " said Yakov. " _It's just going to take time. Anyway, it's pointless to have him keep seeing you when he won't be competing this Winter._ "

_Wait, what?_ "I'm glad to hear you're expecting a full recovery," said Theo. "But that's not what I was asking. I really think having him continue to see me while you're all in town would be best."

" _What for? He's not practicing right now, so there won't be any incidents with the other skaters._ "

Theo started to see red. She needed to get off the phone quickly, or she was going to curse this guy out. “I see,” she said, her face burning. “In that case I have some paperwork I need to send you. Please have him call me. Thank you.” She hung up without waiting for Yakov to answer.

Then she grabbed her coat and told her receptionist she was taking lunch early. She needed some air. That was the problem with some of these sports people. They didn’t really care about the children in their charge. And Yuri, as tough and mean as he pretended to be, was still, at the end of the day, a _child_. More importantly, he had suffered a huge setback that was undoubtedly doing some serious emotional damage. The fact that he couldn’t compete this year was a survivable disappointment. It was upsetting, but it wouldn’t destroy him forever.

But he was still so young, and he’d been so successful so quickly. He wouldn’t understand that. He needed a way to get past this, and Theo suspected Yakov wasn’t going to be able to provide that for him.

Yakov had described the incident as a panic attack, which wasn’t outside the realm of possibility, but that sort of thing didn’t come out of nowhere. They always looked random, but that wasn’t necessarily true.

Theo had done something she tried not to do after she’d been seeing Yuri for a couple weeks: she Googled him. She liked to know the general background of her clients at the outset, but with someone famous--well, famous if you followed professional figure skating, which Theo did not--it was tricky. She hadn’t wanted to approach their time together with any kind of bias.

But she looked anyway. He had extraordinary talent. Far beyond anything she’d imagined. He moved with a languid elegance that looked effortless, but Theo knew better than to assume it was. The way he sometimes collapsed at the end of a performance made her wonder if he worked himself to the point of exhaustion. Which further led her to wonder why he’d been encouraged to keep doing that.

And now he had sustained a major injury that would put him out of commission, possibly for the whole year. No way was he going to be okay with that. What troubled Theo the most was that Yakov probably thought he was doing right by Yuri. Just tell him to take the time off, let him recover, and pick up where he’d left off without a hitch. There was always a hitch.

Then there was the other problem: the Bent-Neck Lady. Her dead sister, Nellie. The same ghost that had haunted her as a child. What did she want with him? Nellie was just one of many souls who had become inextricably attached to Hill House after it swallowed them up. But she was supposed to be one of the “good” ones, the one who warned them when danger was coming and tried to keep them safe. If she was stalking Yuri, either that meant she’d gone “bad,” or he was in danger from something else.

How exactly had he busted that ankle?

Theo took out her phone, pulled up Yuri’s number, and texted, “Call me. Now.”

#

Yuri didn’t leave the dormitory for days. On the first, he barely left his room. On the second, he dragged himself, on crutches provided by the hospital, down to the kitchen to eat something, and everyone at the table immediately pulled back to give him room. They looked at him sideways, nervous, as if they all might break something if they sat too close to him.

He thought about sticking one of his crutches out to trip the first person who got up--preferably Caleb--but it seemed pointless. He probably wouldn’t even get mad. He'd just give him a dirty look and whisper to one of his minions once he got to another room.

Dr. Crain kept calling him and leaving him messages. Yakov had told him not to worry about the counseling sessions anymore, which bothered him for reasons he couldn’t put into words. Not that he enjoyed being forced to go those things, but it had just gotten interesting. Dr. Crain had some kind of weird super power. Maybe she was faking it--anybody could have looked up photos or something online and found out what his grandfather looked like--but he didn’t think so. He had felt something in that room that day. He just didn’t want to talk about his family. What was wrong with that?

If anything in that book was true, then Dr. Crain had lived through a pretty messed up childhood too. She ought to understand that better than anyone. But she also had a huge family. And the ones who had lived through their ordeal were still all in touch with each other. Maybe she didn’t get it.

Wasn’t that her job, though?

"If you don’t give me something, I can’t help you,” was what she’d said.

On the seventh day, he got a text with the words, “Call me. Now.” That was different for her. She’d broken the charade. That “I am a calm and collected professional and I never raise my voice or lose my temper” charade. She was mad, and getting short with him. Part of him wanted to ignore her on principal. Part of him resented how much talking with Otabek had helped, although it wasn’t enough, and he didn’t want her to know that. He didn’t want her to know about _him._ He couldn't explain, he just wanted to keep that private. Otabek was one of the only pieces of his life that hadn't been touched by something awful, and he needed him to stay that way.

So instead of answering the phone, he left the building. Not to see Dr. Crain, not to go to the ice rink, not to do anything but get _away_. He'd call her later if he felt like it. Maybe.

He could've called a taxi but he didn't have any cash. The bus station was too far to walk on crutches. They had those "über" things, but he'd never gotten an account set up. That was the only thing Grandpa wouldn't sign off on. He didn't want Yuri getting into a car with "just anyone." Yuri knew it didn't work like that, but he had to choose his battles with Grandpa. So he just picked a direction.

It wasn't long before he felt something behind him. No footsteps, no breath on the back of his neck, and when he looked around there was nothing there. But there _was_ something. He could sense it, almost like a sixth sense. It was based on some primal knowledge or experience that he only half understood. The only part that mattered right now was: something was following him.

He moved faster. Of course, "faster" was relative on the damn crutches. He had to pick a destination. Just wandering aimlessly wasn't doing him any good. He could feel it catching up. Gliding noiselessly over the sidewalk and hovering just behind him, waiting for . . . what, exactly?

Cars, bikes, and people passed him on both sides. None of them seemed to notice anything weird, but the thing following him probably didn't want them to see. His shoulder was starting to hurt again, that unseen hand pinching and squeezing.

Someone shoulder-checked him on their way past, nearly knocking him over. He tried to yell, "Hey, watch it, jerk!" but all that came out was a half-formed grunt.

Then all the sudden, there she was. The Bent-Neck Lady. Standing on the sidewalk across the street. Yuri stopped. She was clear as day, standing there in all her gruesome ordinariness like she was just another bystander. He squeezed his eyes shut, hoping that when he opened them, she would disappear. No, she was still there, again with her mouth moving. It was the same phrase over and over. Something about a . . . red room.

A bus streaked by between them, breaking his line of sight. After it passed, she was gone. He went straight back to the dorms after that. But then he looked at his last text from Dr. Crain. “Call me. Now.”

He’d thought she was just badgering him to keep his appointments, with that threat of reporting him to Yakov hanging over him. But Yakov told him he didn’t care if he kept going to see her or not. So this was about something else. She’d grown up in that house. What else did she know?

He didn’t call. He couldn’t say it out loud. It was too ridiculous. And saying it out loud would make it real. But he sent her a message: “I saw her.”


	9. The Lake Behind the House

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuri and Theo finally air some truths about their pasts, now that Nellie is in the picture. Then, Theo decides to look deeper into what really happened on the ice when Yuri broke his foot. . .

Neither of them mentioned the fact that Yakov had evidently written off these sessions as useless. In fact, Yuri seemed determined not to mention anything. He propped his crutches against the couch, settled his plaster-wrapped leg on the table, and crossed his arms. His eyes had dark circles under them, and his hair looked clumped and oily like he hadn’t washed it in days. He stared at a corner of the table. He kept rubbing his shoulder, the same spot where Nellie had grabbed him the last time he’d been in this room.

Theo decided to cut straight to the chase. There was no point masking anything now. She took out her phone, and opened the gallery. She found the photo she wanted, and passed it to him.

He took it, confused, and looked down. Then his face went rigid.

"That her?" asked Theo.

He nodded. "Who is she?" he asked, handing the phone back to her.

"My sister, Nellie. She died last year."

She waited while the information sank in. He'd have questions. If Nellie was the Bent-Neck Lady, how could she have been the same ghost she'd seen in her bedroom as a little girl? How had she died? Did Theo know all this beforehand, or did she find out later? What was she doing following Yuri around, when he had nothing to do with Hill House? Was this Theo's fault somehow?

She wouldn't be able to tell him everything, simply because she didn't know it all. She remembered more than she wanted to, and understood less. Mostly, she remembered the cold, all-engulfing nothing that had spread through her hands and threatened to snuff out her heart when she had touched her sister's lifeless forehead. Of all the horrible things Theo had seen in Hill House, nothing had scared her more than that emptiness.

It looked like Yuri had just seen a glimpse of the same thing.

_Please, leave him alone,_ she pleaded to whatever might be listening.

But the questions didn't come. Instead, there was a heavy silence. Theo kept waiting.

Finally, Yuri said, "When I was eight, my mom took us to see my grandparents. She said we were going to stay with them for a while, because it was too expensive where we were before. She left the next morning to get coffee, and didn't come back."

The words came out in a low, monotone rush. He didn't look at her once. Theo held her breath.

"There's a lake behind Grandpa's house that freezes every Winter," he went on. "That's where I learned to skate." He took a deep breath. "What's in the red room?"

Theo's blood turned to ice. _No._ "The red room?" she asked lightly. "You should know that, you read the book. We never got that door open."

He cut his eyes at her, suddenly, defiantly alert. "Don't you dare. Don't start lying to me now. What's in the red room?"

_Dammit._ But okay, that was fair. He deserved the truth by now. "It's a honey trap," she said. "It was different for all of us. For me, it was a dance studio. My own private space where I always felt safe. That's how it kept us there. And Yuri, whatever she's been telling you, I need you to understand: that house is a bad place. You can't--"

"She broke my foot."

"And I am so sorry, but--"

"I can't stop skating." He shook his head. "I can't. It's the only thing I'm good at. She can't take that away from me, it's not fair."

Theo sighed. "No, it's not. Yuri, what are you asking me right now?"

He stared at her as if she was misunderstanding him on purpose. "She's your sister. Make her stop."

His voice broke on the last word. He controlled it quickly, but Theo didn't miss it. Once again, it struck her how young he was. And how scared he was. He hid it well, but the fear was there. Theo had seen that same carefully controlled terror in the mirror herself too many times not to recognize it.

"I don't believe Nellie's the one who hurt you," said Theo. "I believe she's trying to act as a buffer between you and something much worse. That's what she did for us, she warned us away from the bad stuff. Even before she died, she tried to tell us the truth. It's not her fault we didn't listen when we should have."

"So why didn't you?"

She just looked at him. The fear--and a little bit of accusation--was coming through just fine, but there was still a wall there. It was less of a wall now, and more of a smoke screen. A filter that was letting some, but not all, of his emotions through. Being loud and crass with his emotions was more usual for him. Was a haunting really all it had taken for that to change?

“Yuri,” she said. “Why did you tell me that story about your mother just now?”

He scowled. “Why are you changing the subject?”

“I’m not. Why did seeing Nellie convince you it was time to tell me that story?”

His face changed after hearing her question. He was on the verge of either telling her everything, or bolting for the door again. So, again, she waited. She waited until their time ran out, and Yuri left without another word.

#

“He reminds you of Nellie, doesn’t he?”

Once more at the dinner table, this time with spaghetti and salad--one of the four dishes Theo could make well when it was her turn--Trish had pulled the rug out from under her. She’d never once considered that, but now that she _said_ it. . .

“A little bit, yeah,” said Theo. “And it’s not the same situation, but do the specifics really matter? You’re a kid and your mom disappears from your life, you have to deal with that somehow. Whether it’s a ghost or abandonment. A kid’s mind doesn’t know the difference.”

She would know. Nellie would know even better. She'd been the youngest of them when Mom died. And when Dad pushed them off onto Aunt Janet in lieu of raising them himself. They'd all coped somehow, some better than others, with a lot of angry words and hurt feelings and misunderstandings, but they'd survived. All of them except Nellie.

"I started this job because I didn't want anyone else to go through what we did without the tools to survive," she said. "I wonder what's worse? A mother who dies early, or one who's still alive but not around?"

"Or one who's around, but questions every decision you make in your adult life." Trish smiled thinly. "Families are complicated. That's just part of the deal, y'know?"

"Yeah. . ."

Although Theo didn't think "complicated" really covered it. Still, Yuri was different. He was a figure skater--a performer. And his mother had not come to see him skate. Not once. Not that he knew of, anyway. "It's the only thing I'm good at," he'd said. Theo was sure that wasn't true, but the fact that he believed it was telling.

Theo shook her head, and stabbed at part of a tomato with unnecessary force. "I just don't want to see him crash because of this," she said. "It's easy to wrap up your whole identity in one thing. That can get messy."

If only she could figure out what the connection was, why Nellie had attached herself to this boy, before Hill House claimed another victim for its spectral larder. It thrived on pain, uncertainty, and desperation, and Yuri was sliding way too quickly towards all three.

Suddenly, she knew what she had to do. Trish must've seen the lightbulb go on, because she said, "Theo, what are you thinking?" and gave her a suspicious look.

"I think," said Theo, "that I should deliver those papers to Yakov personally." _And get a look at that ice rink._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't find much information about Yuri's mother, so I'm kind of running with the theory that she abandoned him very young. Sort of seeing a connection between his family and Theo's being broken but not always unhappy, for different reasons.
> 
> PS - Otabek is coming soon!


	10. Unexpected Visitors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuri gets a visit from an old friend. Meanwhile, Theo does some psychic recon at the ice rink. There's a biggish reveal at the end of this one.

As Day Twelve of the broken ankle passed, and after Yuri attempted to wash his hair in the sink with mixed results, he forced himself to take a taxi into town and find a café with WiFi. He bought a single shot vanilla latte, checked his phone long enough to transfer some money from his bank account into Grandpa's and note that his unread messages were creeping into the hundreds, then took the same taxi back to the dormitory. He didn't talk to anyone, even the taxi driver. He just leaned his head against the window and waited for the ride to end.

The Bent-Neck Lady--he couldn't call her "Nellie," it was too weird--hadn't shown herself again. But every so often, he felt a pinch in that same spot on his shoulder, and the instinct that something was very close behind him, watching. Not seeing her should've made him feel better, but it didn't. It made him wonder what she was waiting for. He also kept thinking about what Dr. Crain had said, about Nellie possibly being a shield between him and something even worse.

They pulled up in front of the dormitory. Yuri gathered up his crutches awkwardly and moved to open the door, but before he could leave the car, the driver turned around. He said, "Your fans are with you, Yuratchka."

He froze at the use of his pet name. Suddenly he realized the driver had been speaking in Russian the entire time, and he was so out of it he hadn't even noticed.

"What did you say?"

The driver smiled kindly. He had a graying beard and a knit hat, and reminded Yuri a bit of Grandpa. The old man took his phone out and showed him a photo. It was a group of mostly teenage girls, holding up an enormous banner that said, "Get well soon!"

"My niece's daughter," said the driver, "she is one of these fans--Yuri's Angels. There she is." He tapped on the picture to expand it, and pointed out a girl with glasses and bright red hair. "She is worried about you. They are all anxious for you to get well."

Yuri took the phone wordlessly, flabbergasted by what he was hearing. And by how much it actually helped. He’d always found the Angels overwhelming and kind of ridiculous. They got so grabby if they managed to intercept him on the way to, or from, a hotel or something. But they were still on his side.

“Thank you,” he said, staring at the picture and wondering why it had gone blurry.

The driver smiled and tipped his hat. “Dosvidaniya,” he said.

Yuri was in such a daze as he hobbled his way up the front walkway, he didn’t immediately see the young man sitting in the chair by the door. Dark hair, bronze skin, leather jacket, sunglasses that he lifted when Yuri approached. He stood up. Yuri stopped in his tracks.

"Otabek? What are you doing here?"

The Kazakh champion came out from under the afternoon shadow of the building, meeting him halfway down the walkway. "You said you were in trouble."

He may have said something else, but Yuri didn't hear it. How did Otabek always manage to show up just when Yuri most needed someone to rescue him? That, on top of the taxi driver knowing who he was, and being so kind because of it, tipped him over the edge.

Yuri dropped his crutches and threw his arms around Otabek's neck. Otabek folded his arms around him. He said, "Are you taller?" And then Yuri started to cry. Otabek didn't hush him, or tell him it was okay. He didn't say anything at all. He just held him, and let him weep until his shirt was soaked.

Maybe the others in the building were watching, maybe not. Yuri didn't care. None of them mattered right now. He still wasn't okay. But with Otabek here, he could _be_ not okay. He wouldn't care if Yuri won any more medals, or got into any more fights, or ever saw his mother again. He could be broken and messed up, at least for awhile, and that was fine.

Yuri squeezed him tighter.

When he could breathe again, and they disentangled themselves from their embrace, Otabek said, "Wanna get out of here?"

"Yes, please."

Otabek gave him the slow, wry grin that Yuri knew was only for special occasions, and led them to a jet black convertible--a Jaguar.

"Oh, no way," said Yuri. "How did you--?"

Otabek didn't explain. He just opened the door for Yuri and tossed his crutches into the back seat. Whatever happened next, Yuri knew he'd hold onto this day forever.

#

Seeing Theo at the ice rink, in person, certainly seemed to throw Yakov off-kilter. Good. She wanted him unsettled and suspicious. It would make this go much smoother. He came marching around the rink to meet her, his expression controlled but his face red.

"Dr. Crain," he said. "I thought we said you could send the paperwork by email."

"We did, I just happened to be in the neighborhood and thought I'd swing by." She gave him her brightest smile and reached out to shake his hand, keeping her gloves on. "If I'm going to be in the way, I can just go, and you can--"

"No, it's fine," he grumbled impatiently. "As long as it won't take long."

"Perfect." She fished Yuri's forms out of her briefcase and handed them over, along with a pen for him to sign. As he fumbled with the pages, she glanced over at the rink. The speed and powerful grace of the skaters was mesmerizing. Which one of them was Caleb, she wondered? She didn't blame Yuri for going into such a deep funk when he had to quit, even for a little while. She bet it felt like flying.

And her sister, or something close to her, had followed him here and ruined it all. But not for long.

Yakov handed her back the papers. "Are we finished now?"

"Yes, that's all."

"Good. I am sorry to have wasted so much of your time. Yuri won't be ready to skate again for at least another year." He sighed. "That boy should have had another winning streak ahead of him. I've lost two champions, one year after the other. These are promising," he gestured at the trainees on the rink, "but it will be years before they're ready to compete. Yuri was a genius. I might not find another one like him in my lifetime. It's a waste."

Theo chewed on the side of her tongue to keep from saying what she was thinking. _You opportunistic fuck. He's hurt, not dead._

Aloud, she said, "I don't feel like it was wasted. I enjoyed meeting Yuri. I'm sure he'll feel like himself again before you know it." She snapped the briefcase shut. "If you could just point me towards the ladies room before I go?"

He pointed. "That way, past the lockers."

"Thanks. Good luck with the upcoming season."

If this ice skating rink was anything like the roller rinks Theo remembered from her childhood, then the lockers would be full blown, closed door changing rooms, with a set of benches and a few racks of athletic gear. She just hoped she'd have it to herself. She only needed a few minutes.

She slipped inside the locker room--empty--and pulled off her gloves. Moving slowly, she trailed her fingers over the bench, the metal cabinets, the supply closet, the walls. A few low-level readings of the usual stuff--distracted thoughts, frustration, the satisfaction of a job well done--came through, until she stopped at a locker towards the left. A deep, slow pulse beat behind that door. Something old, and greedy.

It wasn't locked. She opened the door. There wasn't much inside. A duffel bag, an oversized sweatshirt with a tiger printed on the back, and . . . a pair of skates. Brand new, sitting forgotten in the bottom. Why had he left them here? Why had he left any of this stuff behind?

The old, greedy presence thickened like fog. Theo bent down, and put her hand on the skates. Something _screamed_. Not a sound, but a feeling. A desperate wail of the soul, shrieking into the void until it bounced off someone just hopeless enough to reflect its own despair back to it.

Theo sat down, clutching one of the skates like a buoy to steady her. God, it was powerful. And demanding. This was a cry for attention from beyond the veil. It was . . . wait. Not old. It had died a long time ago, but it had died young. Young, and alone, and waiting for a friend to join her.

_Her_ \--yes, the presence was a young girl. She had been promised company, but then company hadn't come. She was so lonely. And she had latched onto the first lonely soul she could find.

A gray, moldering face blasted into Theo's mind, with short, bluntly-cut blond hair. Her mouth was stretched wide in that awful scream, and her dead eyes were dull white.

Theo dropped the skate and scrambled backward, hauling herself onto the bench and gripping it with both hands. Her breath was coming in gasps, too shaky and shallow. She hadn't seen that face in decades. Not since they had left Hill House as kids.

_Abigail._


	11. Just One Thing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a short, fluffy, somewhat hurt/comfort-y chapter for V-Day. Disclaimer: I have never been in a Jaguar so I am completely making up what they look like on the inside; nor have I been to the pier in Boston, so forgive me if any of these details are inaccurate.
> 
> Happy Valentines Day!

Downtown Boston wasn't actually all that bad, Yuri decided. Sure, it was crowded, and the roads made no sense, and there were too many people trying to go in too many directions at once, but still--it wasn't bad.

For starters, he was in a _Jaguar_. A badass car with no roof--it was too cold for convertibles in Russia--that was named after a _wildcat_. He kept running his hands over the sleek metal silhouette embossed on the glove box.

But even better, he was in a Jaguar being driven by Otabek. Kazakhstan's homegrown hero, and possibly the most important person in Yuri's life, although he still wasn't sure how that had happened exactly. He'd just shown up one day and swept Yuri off his feet--literally. Scooped him out of an alley where he was hiding from half a dozen of his fangirls, and taken him for a ride on his motorcycle.

How had he even gotten the Jaguar? Not that it mattered, but Yuri did wonder.

"St. Petersburg's boring without you," said Otabek, one hand wrapped lazily around the wheel, and his free arm stretched across the back of the bench seat. "Victor and Yuuri are good company, but I can't really talk to them the way I can with you. Y'know?"

Yuri smiled. He did know. "What are they up to anyway?" he asked, and found that he didn't mind hearing about all his friends' adventures back in the motherland. He listened, laughed, and interjected sharp, sarcastic digs just like usual. He felt like himself again.

They stopped at a waterfront shopping strip and got some tourist junk: a novelty keychain with a red plastic crab, some post cards, and a pack of markers with the city logo stamped on them. They brought it all to a picnic table overlooking the harbor. While Otabek flagged down a street vendor for hot dogs, Yuri broke into the markers, stretched out his bad leg on the bench, and started drawing on his cast. He drew a red crab with a sad face and snapped a picture. Then he posted it on Instagram along with a message: "Wish I wasn't here! This sucks."

He thought about writing something more sincere, like a blanket thank-you to all the Angel girls sending him well wishes. But it was too cheesy for him. Besides, they tracked him so closely they'd probably get suspicious and think his account had been hacked if he turned friendly all the sudden.

He got out some yellow, orange, and black and started drawing a tiger face. Otabek sat down beside him and put the hot dogs on the table. He looked at the drawings on the cast and smiled. "You should name it," he said.

"The crab or the tiger?" asked Yuri.

"Both."

They ate their food, chatted easily about nothing, and drew more cartoon creatures on the cast. Otabek added a speech bubble next to the tiger that said, "I am the Ice Tiger of Russia!" It was hard to believe that just a few short hours ago, Yuri had been sobbing in his arms. Maybe a good, hard cry was all he'd needed.

"Where are you staying?" Yuri asked. "There's probably room at the dormitory. Yakov will whine about it, but he's always whining about something."

"That's okay, I got a room at a bed and breakfast," said Otabek.

"Oh." A pang of disappointment pierced through Yuri's otherwise good mood. Of course Otabek had gotten a room somewhere. Why had he thought any different? What, did Yuri think he would come back and sleep on Yuri's floor?

Yuri checked his phone. His cast photo had already been shared and commented on. "The taxi driver told me his niece is one of the Angels," he said. "He recognized me."

"Well, you're famous," said Otabek. "You made history last year."

"Maybe. . ." He didn't feel famous. But he liked that use of the word "history" better. Not "You're history," like Caleb had said. "You _made_ history." And he had. Why was it so easy to forget that?

"Yuri, look at me," said Otabek.

He looked up. It was so hard to tell what Otabek was thinking. He had the same quiet stoicism in almost every situation. He put all of his feeling into his eyes. And he was watching Yuri carefully.

"What's going on?" he asked.

With anyone else, Yuri might've come back with a snarky comment about how obviously, his broken ankle was pissing him off, but he knew that wouldn't work on Otabek. More importantly, he knew that's not how Otabek meant it. But where could he start? Ghosts, broken bones, Caleb being a dick, Grandpa possibly losing his memory?

"There's so many things," he said.

"Pick one."

His tone wasn't demanding. Still, Yuri could feel himself wanting to clamp up again. It would've been so easy to just keep on pretending he was fine. But after all, Otabek already knew that wasn't true.

So Yuri said, "Yakov's making me see a therapist out here. To deal with my attitude problem." He rolled his eyes.

"How's that going?" asked Otabek.

Yuri shrugged. "Okay, I guess. She's nice." He couldn't do this, keep drawing while he was talking about Dr. Crain. He capped his markers and drew up his leg so he could rest his chin on his knee. "She asked about my mother."

"You never talk about your mother."

"No, because there's nothing to say. She left when I was little, she barely talks to me--so what? It's not like I know what I'm missing. It was a long time ago." Now that he'd started talking, he couldn't stop. "She calls Grandpa sometimes, usually to ask for money, but that's it. She was supposed to come to the Ice Castle match in Japan though. She always says she'll come. The pathetic thing is I always believe her." He looked down at the cartoon tiger on his cast. It didn't look badass anymore. Just childish and fake. "And I've got Grandpa, but he's starting to forget things. Not just stuff like his keys, but big stuff. Like, that the house needs a new roof, and to pay the water bill. He's just. . ."

He hesitated to say "getting old," but that was part of it. The thing was, Grandpa had always been "old" to Yuri. He looked older now, obviously, but he'd never been young while Yuri had known him. And Yuri knew that Grandpa wouldn't be around forever, but somehow he'd never thought about what that would look like. It scared him.

"I don't know," he said, shaking his head. "I hired someone to look after him. Like a housekeeper, but she also makes sure he takes his medication and doesn't lose the mail. Maybe I should just go back and look after him myself, but. . ."

"But what?"

Yuri breathed. "But then, he'll know I didn't finish. He'll know I had to pull out of the camp this year."

"But, Yuri, he'll know that when you go home anyway."

"I know, but it's like admitting it. This." He tapped his cast with the heel of his hand. "As long as I can hide it from him, I can pretend it's not happening. It's stupid, but--"

"It's not stupid." Otabek shook his head. "You have to tell him though. And you know, you can send Victor to check on him."

Yuri scoffed. "Victor?"

"Why not? He's close by. And he could make up an excuse about wanting his piroshki recipe or something. You know what he's like."

That made Yuri laugh. He could almost picture it. Victor breezing in with a dozen grocery bags, taking over the house like a too-tall Christmas elf. And then Yuuri trailing behind him, putting the furniture upright and falling all over himself apologizing. In less than an hour, Victor would be pawing through old photo albums of Yuri as a baby, and Yuuri would be in a quiet corner making friends with the cat. They'd make Grandpa's whole day, though. Maybe he _should_ ask Victor to stop by. The photo ops alone would be worth it.

Otabek reached down and patted his cast. "This isn't the end of the world. You're going to be okay."

Eventually. It was easy to say that. Yuri knew it on some level. But in the meantime? Normally, if something was upsetting him, he could put it out of his mind by skating or dancing. What was he supposed to do now?

"If I can't skate," he said, "I won't be able to support him for much longer. That prize money runs out, you know. Not for awhile, but it will. The government won't keep sponsoring me if I can't compete. Mom's the only other family I have, and she doesn't count."

Otabek shrugged. "So what? You think your friends would let you starve? If you need help, all you have to do is ask."

The sky was going orange and violet. The reflection of the sunset over the water made it look like it was melting. It would be dark soon. And with the dark, the other things would come. Yuri didn't want to go back to the dormitory tonight.

"Otabek?" he said.

"Mm?"

"Show me your room."


	12. The Girl on the Ceiling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuri is missing, and Theo decides to take matters into her own hands. Meanwhile, Yuri and Otabek get in some quality kiss-and-snuggle time . . . for a short time. Also, if it's not obvious in this chapter, I do not care for Steve Crain.
> 
> The last song on Otabek's playlist is [The Promise](https://youtu.be/vyLtOeT-5vY) by When In Rome.

No one could find Yuri. He was supposed to be in the dormitory by nine o'clock every night, along with all the rest of the skaters in the summer camp. But he wasn't. He wasn't answering his phone, and he hadn't posted anything online since that afternoon. He had disappeared.

Theo only found out because Yakov called her.

"No, he's not here," she said. "My office hours end at five, and anyway I can't have underage clients there without an appointment or a guardian. I can't have them in my home at all."

" _But he has not come back,_ " said Yakov. " _If there's anything he told you about where he might've gone, please tell me. He's a tough kid, but he's stubborn. Make him come home._ "

Yakov was right to worry, but not for the reasons he thought. Theo had an idea of where Yuri might've gone, because she'd expressly told him not to. Yakov was definitely right about that: the boy was stubborn. So she called Steve.

She was mid-conversation when Trish got home, carrying Chinese takeout in one hand and her workout gear in the other.

"I know it's impossible," Theo was telling her brother. "But please just check. The house kind of has its own rules about 'impossible.' Don't tell me you don't remember that."

Steve sighed in that irritatingly superior way of his. " _Look, I'll talk to the Dudleys,_ " he said. " _Tell them to keep an eye out for anything weird. But they do that anyway. You know they'd get in touch with us if anyone had come by the house._ "

"Never mind," sighed Theo. "I'll do it myself." She hung up, and braced her hands against the kitchen counter. "Dammit, he still doesn't get it. He thinks because Dad gave him the keys, he actually knows how the house works now." She shook her head. "He never listens."

"What's going on?" asked Trish, carefully setting the food down on the counter.

"My client. He's missing. I hope I'm wrong, but if Abigail is after him, she'll find a way to drag him back there eventually."

"Wait--back where? What house? You mean _the_ house? Who's Abigail?"

"She was a girl--our neighbor. Nellie and Luke's age. She was the daughter of the caretakers behind the house when we were kids."

Theo was pacing, throwing things into her purse: keys, a pocket flashlight, phone. For the longest time, they had thought Abigail was Luke's imaginary friend. They didn't meet her for ages because the Dudleys never let her inside the grounds. They knew how the house worked. They'd always known. They had watched it gobble up family after family, and never came inside after dark.

"She died," said Theo. "On the last night we were there. I think she's haunting him."

She didn't add the most important, and most horrible, part: that Theo's mother had killed Abigail. She had tried to kill Nellie and Luke too, that same night. She tried to kill all of them. There was rat poison in the tea.

"What?" Trish hurried after her. "Theo, wait!"

But Theo was already getting on her coat and gloves. This was just what happened to Nellie. She'd tried to reach out to the family, but none of them had any time for her. She warned them and warned them about the Bent-Neck Lady, and by the time she understood who and what the specter really was, it was too late. The house had gotten to her. And it had almost taken the rest of them down with her.

"I have to get there before he does," said Theo. "Or it'll take him, just like it took Nellie, and Mom, and Abigail, and all the rest of them."

That's what she wanted. Abigail had been waiting for Nellie to join her, but she was too old to have tea parties by then. She wanted a friend. Well, she wasn't getting Yuri.

As she reached for the doorknob, Trish grabbed her and spun her around. "Theo, look at me!" She laid a hand against Theo's cheek.

Theo gasped as Trish's panic blasted through her, pouring through her fingertips and into Theo's skin. Trish moved her hands to Theo's shoulders to lessen the impact, but the damage was done. Trish knew what grabbing her like that could do. She was so scared. Theo didn't need her powers to see the desperation in her face.

"Please, listen to yourself," Trish begged her. "You're getting too close to this. What do you always say about 'maintaining professional distance,' or whatever that phrase is? You can't get involved like this. Besides, how do you even know he's at the house? You could be driving all that way for nothing."

"Then I'll be embarrassed, I'll turn around, come home, and apologize for overreacting." Theo took Trish's hands in both of hers, moving them away from her shoulders. "That's a mistake I can live with. But knowing he could be in trouble, and I did nothing when I could've saved him?" She shook her head. "I can't live through that. Not again."

"This won't bring Nellie back, Theo."

Theo gritted her teeth. That was a low blow. True, nothing could bring Nellie back. And yes, she had probably been comparing Yuri to Nellie more than she should have. And okay, sure, she was definitely getting too close to this. But she also knew the connection now between Yuri and the house: there _was_ no connection. Abigail had found him through _her_. It was Theo's sister, Theo's memories, Theo's psychology practice, and Theo's client. The only thing they all had in common was her. Which meant she was the only one who could fix this.

"I know," she said. "But this is my fault. I have to try." She leaned in and kissed Trish, holding her face in gloved hands and trying not to let the flood of emotions behind the kiss overwhelm her too much. "If I'm not back in two hours, call my brother."

Trish sighed. "Just be careful."

Careful was relative. Theo knew she was still an unfinished meal to Hill House--one of the ones that got away. She'd do whatever she had to do keep it from claiming someone else.

#

Otabek drove them to a remarkably nice bed and breakfast outside of town. It was practically a mansion, all old wood and spiral staircases--which were a pain to get up on the crutches, but Yuri managed with Otabek's help. He had a deck of cards in his room, so they played for a while on the bedspread. It was full dark out by now, but with the curtains drawn, and the soft yellow light of the bedside lamps filling the small space, Yuri finally started to relax.

But a niggling sense of doubt stuck in his mind, like a splinter he could ignore but never quite forget. Something was still watching him. He could feel it, hovering just out of sight, waiting for the right opportunity to pounce. Still, he didn't think it would bother him right now. Not with Otabek here. It was cheesy, but Yuri felt like Otabek could protect him from anything.

After an hour or two evaporated, aided by snacks and sodas they'd picked up on the drive, Otabek got out his phone. "I made you something," he said, scrolling through his music. "I meant to bring this up earlier."

Otabek moonlighted as a DJ, and had mixed the amazing rock track that Yuri had used for his exhibition skate last year. Otabek found the playlist he wanted and hit "play." It was a dance mix, a combination of classic New Wave songs, heavy metal, and modern dance music, all with heavy drumbeats. It was all woven together so seamlessly, it could have been a medley. There was one so wild and explosive--electric strings and synth beats--unlike anything Yuri had ever heard. It was the perfect length for a free program. The last one was vaguely romantic, something about trying to find the right words to fall in love by.

"Oh," said Otabek when the last track came on. "I didn't mean to leave that on there. It's not actually part of the playlist, it just . . . makes me think of you."

"You did that for me?" asked Yuri. He didn't know what else to say.

"Well . . . yeah. That always used to help me. I've been laid up before. It sucks. But it passes. Plus, it gave me time to choreograph my programs. I just wanted to give you something to look forward to. So, what do you think?" He raised his eyebrows.

Once more, Yuri was speechless. There were no words to thank Otabek for everything he'd done for him. So he didn't say anything. He reached out and grabbed the front of Otabek's t-shirt. He pulled him close across the bed. Then he kissed him.

Almost immediately, he panicked. A voice piped up in the back of his head, saying, _You shouldn't have done that. If he just wants to be friends, that's over now. Good job, Yuri._

He pulled back, trying not to notice the deep quiet in the room. Yuri kept his eyes shut and muttered, "Sorry, I didn't know what to. . ."

But then he felt Otabek's fingers against his mouth, shushing him.

"Don't ever apologize to me," he said. "I've been wanting to kiss you since Barcelona."

Yuri opened his eyes. Their faces were so close, he could see every fiber of color in Otabek's irises. "Really?" he asked.

Otabek smiled softly, and nodded.

"Jesus, what were you waiting for?"

Instead of answering, Otabek slid his hand behind Yuri's neck and kissed him again, deeper this time. Yuri wrapped an arm around his back. He wanted to get closer. Every blood cell felt like it was buzzing with electricity. He hadn't even realized he'd been waiting for this, but now that it was happening, he couldn't slow down. Neither of them could. They kissed hungrily, grabbing at each other's hair and holding each other so tight it was hard to breathe.

Yuri twisted around until he was on his back, and pulled Otabek on top of him. Otabek braced his arms against the bed and smoothed Yuri's hair back. Yuri grabbed his face with both hands and pulled him down. The minutes stretched out until time disappeared. Otabek moved carefully because of Yuri's bad leg, touching him gently without letting go.

It wasn't until Otabek moved his head down and started kissing his neck that Yuri's eyes fluttered open again. At first, he thought the dark mass on the ceiling was just a shadow, maybe cast by the lights of cars going by outside. But the curtains were shut. He had heard no cars. There were no shadows. Then the shape solidified into identifiable parts. Arms, with clawed hands pinned to the ceiling, pale, dirty hair, and bright dark eyes like black marbles. Its mouth yawned open and white bile spilled out like smoke.

Yuri scrambled out of the bed, shoving Otabek off more roughly than he meant to, and slammed backward against the wall.

"Yuri?" asked Otabek, breathless and confused. "What's--"

"Do you see it?" Yuri's heart was pounding so loud he wasn't sure he'd said the words out loud. The shape on the ceiling was already starting to fade.

"See what?"

Yuri took his eyes off it for only a second to glance back at Otabek and whisper, "Look!" Then he turned his gaze back upward. There was nothing but a smear of liquid-like darkness that could've been a stain. It faded as he watched. "Shit," he muttered, and covered his face with his hands.

Why was this happening? What had he done wrong? How exactly had he attracted this thing's attention? Dr. Crain was right. It wasn't the Bent-Neck Lady. It was something else, and it was worse.

Otabek got off the bed and came towards him, putting a steady hand on his arm. "What is it? Was there a spider on the ceiling or something?"

The sound of his voice shattered what was left of Yuri's patience. Couldn't he just be happy for a whole one day? Apparently not. Well, he wasn't going to let that slide. Whatever this ghost, or demon, or whatever it was wanted, it did not get to take this from him.

"No," he said. "It wasn't a fucking spider." He snatched his phone off the night table and started going through his photo. "I have to tell you something, and it's going to sound crazy, but I think something's following me."

There was a long pause before Otabek said, "Okay."

"Do you mind going out again?" asked Yuri. "I want to go to this house. She told me not to, but I think confronting this thing is the only way to fix it, because ignoring it damn sure isn't working."

"I don't understand--"

"I looked it up earlier, because I got curious." He found the screenshot and handed over his phone. "Can we go to this address? I know it doesn't make any sense right now, but it's important."

Otabek frowned down at the phone. God, Yuri wished it was easier to read his face. Did he have to be so stoic all the time? He started shaking his head, his forehead creased with what was probably confusion.

"Otabek, please. You trust me, right?"

"Of course I do," said Otabek. "But . . . Yuri, that's _this_ address. We're already here."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ghosts are the WORST. Sorry, this chapter is a bit mean on the cliffhanger, but it will get better. :)


	13. The Dance of the Red Room

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Theo arrives at Hill House to look for the ghost tormenting Yuri. But Yuri is already there, and has a new skating partner. . .
> 
> In this chapter, Yuri is listening to [Lacrymosa](https://youtu.be/KcLP8v3823I) by Evanescence, the "Synthesis" version.

When Theo pulled up the familiar gravel driveway to the chained iron gate, there was already a black Jaguar convertible parked outside. Good lord. She had to give Yuri credit where it was due: he was a slippery little bastard, but he had taste. She hoped he hadn't stolen the car.

It was always such a surreal experience, coming back here. So many bad memories. But so many good ones, too. For all that she hated what Hill House had done to her family, it had also given her so much. She didn't know which ghost had gifted her the ability to see the hidden truth in a touch, but she remembered that night completely. She'd been asleep, and Nellie was still at the age when she sometimes snuck out of bed and crawled into hers if she got scared. That's who Theo had _thought_ was in the room that night. A silent, child-like creature had snuck into bed beside her, squeezing her hand so tight. But when Theo had looked, there had been nobody there.

Whatever else the creature was, Theo had picked up on a very real sense of fear. She felt sorry for little child-ghost, and wished she could have helped it somehow. After that night, she had been able to "see" anything by touching. Her life hadn't been the same sense. She wouldn't change it for anything.  


But the other things that lurked in Hill House, the hungry ghosts and lost souls, had destroyed almost everything she loved. She got out of the car and kept her gloves on to untangle the chain around the fence. The last time she'd gone inside, they'd lost Dad. And they almost lost Luke. She wasn't going to let this damn house take anyone else. Not tonight.

"Who's there?" piped a voice to her left.

Theo jumped--but it was only Mr. Dudley, the caretaker.

"It's me," she said. "Theo. Who else is here?"

The caretake visibly relaxed. "Good lord, child, you have to call ahead if you're coming. You scared me half to death."

She had scared _him_? She resisted the urge to call him out on that one; there wasn't enough time.

"Never mind that," she said. "Who's car is that? Who else is here?" She pointed out the Jag.

Mr. Dudley shook his head. "I haven't seen anyone. I told Steve that already. He called to see if there was anyone here."

"Uh huh. Have you seen Abigail lately?"

At that, Mr. Dudley went white. It was a harsh move, and she knew it. The Dudleys hadn't been planning to stay on as caretakers after Theo's family had left. But then Abigail died. She became a ghost. Keeping up the house was the only way they could still see their daughter. Just saying her name was enough to bring her to them. It was cold comfort, but it was all they had.

"You know we don't go inside the grounds at night, Theo," he said.

"Yes, I know. Call her."

"Why?"

"Because I have some questions for her, and I am damn near out of patience. Call her, or I'm going in."

#

It was impossible. They couldn't already be in the house. Yuri had thought this place looked kind of fancy and old-fashioned for a Boston hotel, but he hadn't really been paying attention. In Europe, everything was old and fancy. And anyway, Otabek had led him here. He never would have taken them somewhere dangerous. Would he?

"We have to get out of here," he said, and burst through the bedroom door. He didn't noticed the peculiar arch at the top, or the bright red paint.

He winced as his leg twinged, and caught himself on the balcony railing over the spiral staircase.

"Yuri, hang on--what's happening?" said Otabek. "Who's after you?"

But his voice was so quiet. It was getting fainter, as if coming from a great distance. The landing was narrow and high. It was so cold in here. Why was it so cold? And what was that other sound? Music. Yuri heard music.

Before he noticed what he was doing, Yuri was moving down the stairs. The banister grew colder as he got closer to the floor. It wasn't just cold: it was frozen. So was the floor. The polished hardwood was gone, replaced by a sheet of ice. In the center of it was a girl in a white gown, skating. Dancing, on the ice. That was what they called it sometimes: "ice dancing."

A voice was echoing somewhere behind him, calling his name, and there was a thumping noise like someone pounding on a closed door. But it was so far away it didn't seem important. Yuri walked down the rest of the stairs. Actually _walked_. The cast had disappeared. He didn't feel a thing. When he reached the floor, he looked down: he was wearing his skates again. The new ones that had betrayed him when he fell before. And he was wearing white, to match the girl skating over the floor.

She swept towards him and held out her arm. Yuri didn't even hesitate. He took her hand, and glided out onto the ice as easily as if he'd never left. He'd never done pair skating before, but he seemed to know instinctively what to do. He clutched the girl's hands and spun over the floor with her. They picked up speed, flying over the ground so quickly it felt like they might leave it behind. He curled a hand around her waist and lifted her into the air.

Suddenly the music changed. It had started out with a familiar, classical melody. Now, someone was singing over the centuries-old notes. Heavy drums came in and stamped out a rock and roll beat. It was fiendishly perfect.

Yuri gained some momentum on his own and flew into a perfect quadruple toe loop. The girl matched him, reading his mind and following his steps. When he took her hand again, he noticed how pale she was. Her skin was so smooth it almost plastic. And there was something oddly mechanical about her.

Then he saw someone else, watching from the balcony. A little girl holding a music box topped with a ballerina. She spun the tiny figure around the disc, watching him with cold, gray eyes. The same eyes he'd seen in that shadowy thing on the ceiling. He had felt her behind him for days.

Yuri lost his balance and skidded away, the ice burning his palms as he tried to slow himself down with his hands. The dancing girl slumped to a halt. Her posture crumpled, a puppet with the strings dropped. Her gown rotted as he watched, no longer snow white but dingy and moth-eaten. Her shoulders creaked like old gears and her synthetic hair fell over her face.

The girl on the balcony was crying. The music box lay toppled at her feet. She looked so much younger than he'd thought. She was just a little girl, waiting for someone to come and rescue her.

" _No, she's not._ "

The voice echoed in his mind. "Nellie?" he asked.

" _She was innocent a long time ago. But death changes things. It turns your heart inside out. When that happens, you can bleed and weep for the hurt inside. Or you can turn to stone._ "

The little girl rose. Her sobs had lengthened. They were getting louder, transforming into something animalistic and hideous. She was screaming. The same scream that had punched through Yuri's playlist and made him fall. She turned her horrible face upward, and stretched her mouth wide to let out the scream.

Nellie's hand clamped down on his shoulder, and wrenched him backward. Her touch burned him like fire. The last thing he remembered was the pain in his ankle screaming back to life and the sound of a door slamming shut. Then everything went dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh snap! I did not mean for the gap between postings to be this long. Sorry about that! I have gotten all the remaining chapters beta'd and polished, and I'll try to get them up at a more reasonable pace from here out.
> 
> Happy Easter Eve, if you celebrate! Happy Saturday if you don't!


	14. The Honey Trap

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuri's in the Red Room. Theo and Otabek catch up to each other in the house, and try to reach Yuri before it's too late.

The lights were already on inside. Theo wasn't fooled. She knew the light was a trick. But she let it guide her through the rooms anyway. She didn't get far. Just a few feet into the front foyer, she was met by a young man in jeans and leather wielding what looked like part of busted end table.

"Whoa!" she yelled, holding both hands up and taking a step back.

"Who the hell are you?" he asked. His voice was low and furious. Not a good combination.

"Theo Crain, this is my family's house," she answered quickly. "Who the hell are _you_?"

His expression softened, and he put the hunk of wood down. "You're Dr. Crain?"

So he'd heard of her. Not completely out of left field, but that depended on why he knew her name. "Yeah," she answered slowly.

"I'm Otabek Altin. Yuri's . . . friend."

Huh. Theo had brought back "friends" to Aunt Janet's for years before Janet, and Dad, finally told her she didn't have to keep hiding it. They both knew she was gay. She could've told Yuri he didn't need to hide that from her, but it wasn't important right now.

"I was looking for him," Otabek went on. "We got separated somehow. I don't understand what happened."

"Yeah, I'm looking for him too. Yakov called me. He said he's not answering his phone."

"That's probably my fault. But I didn't know what this house was. I thought it was a bed and breakfast."

Oh, that was a mean trick. And a new one. Theo would definitely need to have words with Abigail once she caught up to her.

"He kept saying. . ." Otabek shook his head. "He wasn't making sense. He thought something was following him."

"Not following--luring. Luring him here." Theo crossed her arms and peered up at the rotting walls around them. "That's what it does. I grew up here. It doesn't give up easy." Slivers of pale shadow peeked out from behind the corners and inside the walls, watching her. Some of them, she recognized. The tall man with the cane and the bowler hat. The flapper lady in her silk dress and her jeweled headband. And in the back, not much more than a silhouette, in the sun room with the marble statues, was her mother. Theo could never get used to seeing her like this. With her dark cloud of hair and her heavy red robe, just as elegant as she'd been two decades ago. It was like stepping back in time, back before everything went wrong.

"How long has it been?" Theo asked. "Since you saw him?"

"Just a couple of minutes," said Otabek. "He went through the door, and I tried to follow him, but--"

Theo snapped her head around, her blood going cold. "Which door?"

"The red door at the top of the stairs." He pointed. "That way."

"Shit," Theo whispered. "Hurry. We don't have much time."

#

It was the Red Room. Yuri was in the Red Room. It was so much smaller than he'd pictured. Black mold dappled the walls and floor, and the air smelled damp and poisonous. A single table sat in the center with four chairs arranged around it. One of the chairs was occupied.

Yuri was slumped against the wall, his bad leg crumpled under him. He pushed himself up onto his knees. It was pins and needles all the way down. His leg was hurting much higher up than it was supposed to. It almost felt like it was broken in more than one place now. He was afraid to look down.

A figure in white watched him. She had her hand resting on the back one of the chairs. He didn't recognize her at first, because she was standing up straight. Her neck, for some reason, was no longer broken.

" _It's only in this room that I'm me again_ ," said Nellie. " _I can't stay long. And neither should you._ "

The thing in the chair sat with its head bent low. Smooth gray hands rested on the table top. The sound of a child crying came from it, but it didn't move.

Yuri dragged himself backward, still trying to stand. Even his good leg didn't seem to be working. Dammit, Dr. Crain had warned him. She had called this place a "honey trap." It laid out whatever its victims would find the most enticing. For Yuri, it couldn't have been more obvious. He wanted to lose himself on the ice again. So, he had. For just a second, before he started to see the cracks in the illusion, he had actually been happy.

"Why can't I get up?" asked Yuri.

Nellie didn't answer. She looked at the immobile figure at the table. " _This is where she died. We were having a tea party. For so long, I couldn't even remember. I guess I didn't want to._ "

"What does she want from me?"

" _A friend._ "

A low rumble went through the walls. It was distant as thunder, but coming from the door. Someone was knocking.

#

Otabek pounded on the door, calling his friend's name. The handle wouldn't turn, and the door wouldn't open. Yuri didn't answer.

"That won't do any good," said Theo. "It doesn't work like that."

"Are you sure he's in there?" asked Otabek.

"I can find out." Theo took her gloves off and crouched down in front of the door. The last time she'd been in this room, she had almost immediately been sucked under its influence. So many times when they'd lived here as kids, she'd been caught like a fly in a web, and hadn't even realized it. To her, this room had looked like a wide open space with nothing but a television and a surprisingly excellent sound system. She'd learned how to dance in here.

She pressed her hands against the red wood. Three souls pulsed behind the barrier. Two old and latched inextricably to the house. The third fluttered like a firefly in a killing jar. He was close now. Too close.

"He's here," she said aloud. "But he's not alone."

"Can't we break the door down?" asked Otabek.

Theo shook her head. "We've tried that before."

"What is going on? What is this place? Why can't we open the door?"

"Because it's cursed. This whole place is." Theo pressed her forehead against the door. She was trying to pinpoint one soul in particular. The only one that might be in a listening mood.

"Nellie?" she asked softly. "I know you're there. Please listen."

#

Yuri pulled his knees up to his chest, wincing at the pain from moving. This was really bad. Something was crunching beneath his skin in a way that it shouldn't. He had to will himself not to pass out from the pain.

"You mean she wants me dead," he said. "That's what she means, right? If I'm dead, I can stay here and be her friend?"  
He wondered why he felt so calm about the whole situation. Two ghastly dead girls were in this place, one of whom wanted to kill him. Maybe he was all out of fear. He'd used it all up already.

The knocking stopped.

" _She gets so lonely,_ " said Nellie. " _Stuck in here with all the old dead things, and no one for company but me. I was supposed to die that night, too. It took me a while to catch up. I'm too old to play with her now._ "

Yuri braced himself against the wall and pushed himself to an upright position. As long as he didn't put any weight on the bad leg _at all_ , he could slide along the wall. The first corner wasn't far. If he could get past that, and then continue sliding behind them, he could get to the door. He just had to make it without either of them noticing what he was doing.

" _She didn't know she wouldn't be able to grow up. I think I make her sad._ "

"Yeah, that's too bad," Yuri muttered. "Has she tried not stalking and threatening people?"

But Nellie didn't appear to hear him. She tilted her head suddenly as if listening for something. Yuri froze, hoping she hadn't figured out his plan already somehow.

" _Yes, I hear you,_ " she said. " _Theo, why are you here?_ "

"Theo?" It took Yuri half a heartbeat to make the connection. Then he rushed towards the door, forgetting his leg and slamming back into the floor. He spit out a curse. "Dr. Crain!" he yelled. "I'm here! Do you hear me? I'm here!"

A voice so soft it was almost nothing came from the other side of the red door. "Nellie, please, let him go," she said. "He has nothing to do with this. Tell Abigail we'll think of another way, but she has to let him go."

#

Otabek's eyes widened, and he pressed his ear to the door. "I can hear him," he said. "Yuri, hang on! We're coming to get you, okay?"

A few seconds later, Yuri's voice came through, barely louder than a whisper: "I can't walk. Something's wrong, I think it's broken worse now."

_Oh god._

Theo didn't know what to do. She thought Nellie was listening, but it was Abigail they had to convince. Theo didn't know her that well. Luke was the one who had befriended her. Which was probably why she'd tried to keep him here too.

"Yuri, listen to me," she said. "Be very, very still. Whatever happens, do not look at Abigail. Stay focused on Nellie. Can you do that?"

There was a sickening pause, then he said, "Yes, I think so."

"Okay. Just keep looking at Nellie. She won't hurt you, I promise."

Theo wasn't sure how much Nellie could help, but at least it would keep him from slipping away any further. She glanced at Otabek.

"We have to get him out of there," he said.

Right. And that's exactly what they were going to do. "You have to be fast," she told him. "Once Nellie opens the door, I don't know what we're going to see in there. I'll stay here and keep it open. You run inside, get Yuri, and then get out. Got it?"

He nodded, his eyes steely and his jaw set. "What are they gonna do to him?"

Theo could imagine a dozen equally gruesome possibilities, but she pushed them all out of her head. Guessing would only make it worse.

"It doesn't matter," she said. "Just get him and go."

"Okay."

Theo waited, feeling for the click in the preternatural mechanism that would let them inside. The "heart" of the house. It was more like the mouth, swallowing, chewing, and grinding up. She shut her eyes. "Come on, Nellie," she whispered. "You can do this. I know you can."

Nellie would know how to open the door. She had to. Theo was putting a lot on faith here, but she did have faith in her sister. Nellie was special--always had been. She could see the things that came through the cracks between this world and the next better than anyone, except maybe Luke.

" _And you believed me_ ," said a voice inside her head. Nellie's voice. " _Not Mom and Dad, not Shirley, not Steve. You believed me when no one else would._ "

"Yes, I did," said Theo, her words running together like a rushed prayer as she tried not to think about the boy on the brink of being devoured inside. "That's right, Nellie. I always believed you."

" _But then you stopped._ "

The pulse of souls behind the door went cold. "No," said Theo. "That's not true. Nellie--"

" _You stopped. You stopped listening. You said she was crazy when she told you about the Bent-Neck Lady. You saw what happened to Mom and you still didn't believe them._ "

Theo shook her head frantically. This wasn't happening. This couldn't be happening. "Nellie, I'm sorry. You're right, okay? I didn't listen when it mattered, and I am so sorry. But I can't just--"

" _You wouldn't even let me keep Luke. You thought I was imaginary. Why can't you just let me keep this one?_ "

At some point, the voice had fractured in two. Theo had been too upset to notice. Something else had taken over Nellie's voice behind the door. "You're not my sister," she said.

The door clicked open.


	15. One Last Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Abigail doesn't want to let her new friend go. But Otabek and Theo aren't leaving until they save Yuri.

The door clicked open. Yuri watched Otabek stumble through. He tried to call out to him, but his mouth felt dry and his tongue was thick in his mouth. Still, it only took Otabek a moment to reach Yuri. Then he rushed forward and embraced him in both arms. It felt so warm, and Yuri was so cold. He could barely move. His leg didn't hurt that much anymore, but he thought that might've been shock settling in. With pain, after a certain point you either passed out or went numb to it. That's how Yuri felt. Numb. He buried his face in Otabek's shoulder.

Otabek pulled Yuri's arm over his shoulders and wrapped an arm around his waist to steady him. "Okay, let's go," he said softly.

But as they moved past the table, there was a sound like the grinding of stone against wood. The girl at the table was turning her head. A hard, cold hand snapped around Yuri's wrist

" _Why can't I keep this one?_ " she said.

Panic crept up Yuri's throat. _No,_ he thought desperately. _I'm almost out. That's not fair!_ He pulled back, but his hand wouldn't budge.

The girl wasn't holding him tight enough to hurt, but she wouldn't let go. Her hand was as solid and immovable as a marble. Just like Nellie said, she had turned to stone.

Otabek couldn't understand why he wasn't moving. "Come on, we have to go," he was saying.

But he couldn't. He was stuck and she wasn't going to let him go. Where was Nellie? Theo had warned him not to look away from Nellie, but he couldn't see her anywhere.

Suddenly, Dr. Crain came bursting through the door. Otabek looked up in shock. "You're supposed to keep the door open," he said.

But she ignored him. She went straight to the table and wrapped a bare hand around the girl's wrist. Color flooded back into the girl's arm, spreading out from where Dr. Crain was holding her. As the color moved to her face, the girl’s eyes and mouth opened wide, and she screamed. But it wasn’t the dark, primal wail that he’d heard before. It was the frightened keen of a lonely little girl.

The stone hand grew warm and soft around Yuri's wrist. She was letting go. Yuri stared at his hand, but before he could fully process what he was seeing, Dr. Crain yelled, “Go!” and Otabek pulled him away.

The house was so dark around them. Flashes of grayish white figures trailed behind them like mist. Ivy spilled over the balcony, threatening to tangle around their feet, but Otabek kept him steady.

Once they were through the door, they ran for the gate. Yuri turned back. Where was Dr. Crain? She should have been right behind them.

"Yuri, come on!" Otabek was yelling, but Yuri stayed by the gate.

"Where is she?" he asked. "It shouldn't be taking this long."

The light was on in one of the windows. Inside was Nellie's crooked silhouette, watching them.

“Do you see her now?” he asked, hanging onto Otabek’s shoulder. He didn’t think he could stay upright much longer.

“Yeah,” said Otabek. “Who is she?”

“My sister,” said Dr. Crain. She had finally caught up to them. She dragged them all through the gate and slammed it shut behind her, latching the chains back around the bars. “At least, what used to be my sister. That’s not who attacked you though.” She stood there, breathing heavy. Her hands were shaking. There was an imprint of a child-sized hand around her forearm. "We can come back for our stuff in the morning. I don't know if she'll leave you alone, Yuri. They get attached to certain people. It's harder to shake them once you've been inside. This house is. . ." She sighed, and pulled her gloves back on.

"Are you okay?" asked Otabek.

"I'm fine."

Suddenly, Yuri remembered something. There was a short, but unforgettable scene in that book. Dr. Crain as a child in her bed, with a ghostly hand curled around hers, squeezing just a bit too tight. That was why she could see things through her hands. The ghost girl had been reaching out, all the way back to the past, one last time.

“She’s so lonely,” said Yuri.

“I know," said Dr. Crain. "And it’s tragic, what happened to Abigail, but that’s not your fault. It wasn't anyone's fault but Mom's.”

"That's not what I mean," said Yuri. She just wanted a friend. Her whole life, she’d never been allowed to have friends, and when she finally thought that was going to change, they had left her. All three of them were supposed to be friends, but they had left her behind.

He knew how she felt.

“Yuri,” said Otabek, watching him carefully. “You’re not thinking of going back in.”

“No,” he said. “But I have an idea.”

#

One last time, Yuri sat on the couch in Dr. Crain’s office. He’d gotten a walking cast to replace the plaster one. He still had a long way to go, and whatever Abigail had done to him at the house had set him back even more, but it was getting better.

He took out the composition book she had given him at his first session. Right now, it was still blank. Mostly.

“You were supposed to use that as a journal,” said Dr. Crain, but her tone was more amused than scolding.

“Yeah, I didn’t do that,” said Yuri. “Sorry.” He tore out the one sheet he’d written on, and then a blank one, and showed it to her.

Dr. Crain took a moment to read. He wondered what she was thinking. It was a bizarre idea, but it was a bizarre situation too. Anyway, she’d told him to reach out. This had to count towards that. Plus, he needed something to do while he was waiting for his leg to heal, however long that took.

“The second page is for her to write back,” Yuri explained. “The Dudleys can just put it in the mailbox, and you can send it to me. Or just have them send it--whatever.”

She raised her eyebrows. “You want to be pen pals with a ghost?”

“Is that what you call it? Look, I just don’t want to leave without doing something. I know how strange it sounds.”

“I’ve heard stranger,” said Dr. Crain with a smile.

Yeah, she had. Yuri knew she’d seen things he couldn’t even imagine. Things darker and more dangerous than anything in Steve’s book, or that Yuri had seen in the house himself.

“So, what do you think?” he asked.

Dr. Crain folded the pages neatly and handed them back to him. “I think you’re much sweeter than you pretend to be. And,” she checked her watch, “since as of right now, I am no longer your doctor, how about you start calling me Theo?”

He laughed, and they stood up to shake hands. She kept her gloves on this time. No more peeking. “Okay, Theo,” he said.

“And once you’re out of that thing,” she added, glancing at the walking cast, “I want to come see you skate.”

People were always saying that. But with Dr. Crain--Theo--he had a feeling she’d keep her promise. “You better,” he said. “I’m the best.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Penultimate chapter! This is basically the "end" but I have an epilogue coming. Almost there, guys!


	16. Epilogue: The Comeback

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Grand Prix Finals! Yuri's foot has finally healed and he invites Theo to come see him at his best. In this finale, Yuri's dancing to [Syringe](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O8F9SCBFHYg) by Emilie Autumn.

_Two years later. . ._

The Grand Prix Finals took place in Toronto that year. It was probably about the same distance as flying all the way to Europe, but since it was on the same continent as Boston, it didn't seem as far. That's what Theo told herself anyway, and how she justified the trip to Trish. As it turned out, Trish didn't need convincing.

"I can't believe we're finally taking our first trip together," she gushed as they joined the stampede out of the airport. "I've never taken a couple vacation before. This is gonna be so great!"

"Me either," said Theo. Truth be told, Trish was the first girl she'd stayed with long enough to become part of a "couple." She'd gotten through a lot of firsts with Trish. "You don't mind that it's for one of my clients?"

"Are you kidding? You can write this off as a business expense. It's perfect!"

Theo laughed and looped her arm through Trish's, and together they searched for a taxi.

The email had come through about three months ago, and at first Theo wasn't sure who it was from. It was an invitation to the event that would signify that year's world champion for Men's Figure Skating--aka, the Grand Prix Finals. It sounded so formal and professional, she never would have connected it to the high-strung problem child she'd treated two years ago.

Then there was a post-script: " _By the way, if you happen to see Abigail, tell her to quit hanging around the statues in the sun room, they're making her grumpy. Please come!_ "

She still didn't really know what to expect. She had never seen an ice skating exhibition in person before. Just watched on TV, and not very often. Ice skating wasn't really her thing. But they had a whole week planned, and she was looking forward to seeing Yuri again, even if she only got to see him from a distance.

#

The whistle blew to signal the end of warm-ups. Yuri drifted back to the sidelines, where Lilia was waiting for him. Yakov was here somewhere, but he wasn't coaching Yuri anymore. He'd gotten "busy" in the eighteen months Yuri had taken to recover and reconnect with Grandpa. Victor and Yuuri had dropped in whenever they could. Just like Otabek said, all Yuri had needed to do was ask, and there they were. He went to as many matches as he could to scope out his competition.

Caleb was doing okay, more was the pity, but he didn't qualify for the Grand Prix Finals. That gave Yuri a twinge of satisfaction, he had to admit, but he'd still shaken Caleb's hand at the end of the qualifying match and tried not to be an ass about it. At least, not to his face. And maybe he'd squeezed the other boy's hand a little hard, but Caleb didn't react.

His last letter from Abigail had been confused and angry on his behalf. " _He's so mean to you! Why do you have to be nice to him when he's mean to you?_ " she'd asked.

When he wrote back, he'd said, "I don't have to be nice to him, but it's the grownup thing to do. He knows he lost. Rubbing his face in it wouldn't make me feel any better." He only half-believed that, if he was honest. Some people needed to be put in their places. Caleb wasn't an evil kid though, just a jerk with a chip on his shoulder.

More importantly, he wasn't the one Yuri needed to beat: it was Victor. The last time Yuri and his Japanese counterpart had both skated on the same ice, they'd annihilated Victor's world record in two categories. Now that all three of them were competing again, they needed to keep that going.

And Otabek was here of course. Yuri hated all the time they'd had to spend apart during the qualifying matches, but the joy Yuri felt seeing him again almost made the wait worth it. Otabek had been around while Yuri was recovering, just not as often as he wanted to be. Yuri hadn't explained how it was with Otabek to Grandpa yet. His plan was to invite him over for dinner sometime, along with Victor and Yuuri, so he'd have backup in case it went badly. He didn't think it would, but it was impossible to know for sure.

Meanwhile, he was getting into competition mode. He loved his friends, and his boyfriend, but he would destroy all three of them tonight if he had to. It just sucked that there were only three places on the podium.

One of the Americans was up first, so he had a little time to stretch and get into the right headspace. He pulled up the playlist Otabek had made for him and queued up the song he'd chosen for this program, mentally going through the steps as he listened. Lilia had resisted letting him choose his own music at first, but Yuri had called in a favor with Victor to persuade her. This was important.

Before long, Otabek found him. Yuri smiled and let the other man wrap him in the biggest bear hug, but before he could say anything, Otabek silently pointed into the stands. Yuri followed his gaze, wondering who was up there.

It took him a second to recognize her. It had been two years after all. But there she was, keeping her promise like he'd known she would: Theo Crain. She was sitting with another woman Yuri didn't know, but when she noticed him watching, she waved.

Yuri beamed and waved back. She came. She _came_. After all this time, and all the times Yuri had been disappointed by people never keeping their promises, she actually came.

"So, which one did you pick?" asked Otabek, glancing at the phone.

Even though they'd been at the same qualifying match in Barcelona, they had somehow missed each other's new programs completely. All Yuri had told him was he was using something from his playlist.

"It's a surprise," said Yuri.

Otabek shrugged. "Okay. Good luck!" He started to move away, but Yuri snagged his hand and pulled him back.

Before he could think too much or talk himself out of it, Yuri planted a kiss on Otabek's mouth, ignoring the immediate clicks of cell phone cameras going off . "Davai," he whispered.

#

The announcers were allegedly explaining who was going up next, and what songs they were skating to, but Theo couldn't understand a thing. And it wasn't just because she didn't speak French, because they were doing the commentary in English too. The noise in the stands just muddled everything too much.

But then she saw Yuri skating out to the take the center. She snatched at Trish's hand. "Look, look! He's about to start!"

Trish laughed at her, but kindly. "Excited?"

Theo shushed her. She _was_ excited. More than she'd realized. The lights went dim, the house exploded into cheers before the hush fell, and then the spotlight found him. His costume was pure white, made from several layers of fabric that looked like it had been shredded and put back together with safety pins and rhinestones. His arms were bare apart from a pair of white biker-style gloves.

Then the music started. It surprised her at first: an old-fashioned harpsichord melody. Uptempo, but kind of stiff and formal. Yuri moved through his program like smoke over water: fluid, graceful, surprisingly quick. The other skaters had impressed Theo's untrained eye, but he was different. This remarkable young man was born to float over the ice.

Then the tune exploded with electric violins and rock 'n roll beats, and Yuri started his jumps. Theo gasped and her hands darted to her mouth before she realized it. It was hard to tell just how high those jumps were from the television, without anything for scale. That one must've been at least four feet clear off the ground. It really was like flying. It seemed impossible that such a short time ago, he'd broken his foot in two places. Theo couldn't even tell which foot it was.

Yuri went into another jump, flipping from one foot to the other so fast it made Theo dizzy to watch him. Every movement was timed so perfectly to the music, it seemed almost like the notes were responding to _him_ , and not the other way around. He spun, glided, and raced over the glossy surface, not just going through the steps, but telling a story with his hands, his face, his whole body.

All too soon, it was over. Flowers and fuzzy toys were flung onto the ice, then swept up by the staff around the rink, as Yuri took his bow. He came up smiling. Yeah, he knew he'd done a good job. Theo clapped and hollered until it made her throat hurt. It was cheesy, but she felt so proud. More like a big sister or a cool aunt than his former therapist. He had told her he didn't have any other family besides his grandfather. She had plenty of siblings already, so what was one more?

#

He almost didn't want to see the scoreboard. Whatever the judges thought, this one had been a personal best. Yuri had never felt better after a performance. Lilia shoved a water bottle into his hand, tears in her eyes as she said, "Well done, Yuratchka. Well done." He was taller than her now. He still wasn't used to that.

"Let's hope the judges think so," he said, and they went over to the kiss-and-cry booth to wait. It was going to be close, no matter what. He'd only beaten Yuuri's final score by 0.12 points two years ago. Finally, the score card lit up: 118.73. Well, it wasn't another world record, but it would get him on the podium at least. Yuri breathed a sigh of relief.

Lilia forced him to do two interviews before letting him get back to the stands to watch the rest. He hoped he wasn't missing Otabek's performance. But before he made it back around the rink, he was stopped by another familiar face: Theo.

"You came!" he said, and rushed forward to hug her. "I saw you in the stands before. I can't believe you actually made it."

She laughed and hugged him back. "Of course I did! You look amazing out there, kid."

"Told you I was the best."

She groaned at his bravado, but he could tell she wasn't that annoyed. When she let him go, she said, "You wanna sit with us? There's someone I want you to meet."

"Sure!"

As they walked up the stairs to where Theo and her girl were sitting, Yuri suddenly felt a presence he hadn't felt in two years, just behind him. She must've followed Theo here. He wondered if she knew. It felt different this time though. The anger and the pain were gone. It was just a warm, almost electric, energy. He paused, and stretched his hand out. A ghostly hand, just substantial enough to curl inside his, solidified there. He didn't need to look to feel Abigail smiling up at him.

"You're a long way from home," he whispered. "Thanks for coming."

A small voice, speaking directly inside his mind, said, " _You look like an angel. Are you an angel?_ "

That wasn't the first time he'd heard that. But for the first time, he knew how to answer. "Nah. Just me."

And it was true. He wasn't an angel, or a fairy, or a tiger. He was Yuri Plisetsky, the youngest Grand Prix champion in the world, current record holder for the short program. He was Yuuri Katsuki's best friend, Otabek Altin's lover, and the pen pal of a little ghost girl in Boston who just needed someone to talk to. He took care of his grandfather as well as he could, and while he knew he'd lose him one day, that didn't scare him anymore. He was, more or less, a good guy. And actually? That was all he needed.

THE END.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're done! Thanks everyone who read, commented, subscribed, left kudos, and/or lurked here. I hope you enjoyed this weird little crossover!


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